A Story Of To Day

A Laodicean

A Story of To-Day

BY

THOMAS HARDY

friTH A MAP OF WEShhX

ILontion

MACMILLAN AND CO, Limited

NEW YORK . THE MACMILLAN C<M<PANY

1903

rtgks rfiervad

First Kdition (3 V 0 h»\ 1881. Nnu Edition (i vol,') and refurints^ 1882-1893,
Nnv Edition and rt^ints, i896-it)cx> i\ew Edition ^ 1903.

PREFACE

1 HE changing of the old order in country manors and
mansions may be slow or sudden, may have many issues
romantic or otherwise, its romantic issues being nbt
necessarily restncted to a change back to the original
Older; though this admissible instance appears to have
been the only romance formerly recognized by novelists
as possible in the case. Whether the following pioduction
be a picture of other possibilities or not, its incidents
may be taken to be fairly well supported by evidence
every day forthcoming in most counties.

The writing of the tale was rendered memorable to
two persons, at least, by a tedious illness of five months
'^hat laid hold of the author soon* after the story was begun
1 a well-known magazine ; during which period the narra-
ve had to be strenuously continued by dictation to a
predetermined cheerful ending.

As some of these novels of Wessex life address themselves
more especially to readers into whose souls the iron has
entered, and whose years have less pleasure in them now

V

PREFACE

than hcietofore, so “A Laodicean” may perhaps help to
while away an idle afternoon of the comfoi table ones whose
lines have fallen to them in pleasant places ; above all,
of that large and happy section of the reading public
which has not yet reached ripeness of yeais; those to
\\hom marriage is the pilgiim’s Eternal City, and not a
milestone on the way.

T. H.

January 1896.

CONTENTS

BOOK THE FIRST

GLORCiL bOMERSEl, 1-XV .

BOOK THE SECOND

Dare and Kavill, I-VH

BOOK THE THIRD
De SXAtJCY, I-XI

CONTENTS

BOOK THE FOURTH

Somerset, Dare, and De Stancv, I-V .

BOOK THE FIFTH

Dk Stancy and Eaula, I-XIV

BOOK THE SIXTH
Paula, I-V

PAGE

. 30 *

. 337

. 453

BOOK I HE FIE ST

GEORGE SOMERSET

GEORGE SOMERSET

BOOK THE FIRST
GEORGE SOMERSET

1

The sun blazed down and down, till it was within
half-an-hour ol its setting , but the sketcher still lingered
at his occupation of mcasunng and copying the chevroned
doorwa) — a bold and quaint example of a transitional
st>lc of architecture, which formed the tower entrance to
an English village church. The graveyard being quite
open on its western side, the tweed-clad figure of the
young draughtsman, and the tall mass of antique masonry
which rose above him to a battlemented parapet, were
fired to a great brightness by the solar rays, that crossed
the neighbouring mead like a warp of gold threads, in
whose mazes groups of equally lustrous gnats danced and
wailed incessantly.

He was so absorbed in his pursuit that he did not
mark the brilliant chromatic effect of which he composed
the central feature, till it was brought home to his intelh-
gence by the warmth of the moulded stonework under
his touch when mcasunng , which led him at length ^
turn his head and gaze on its cause.

There are few in whom the sight of a sunSat does not
beget as much meditative melancholy as contemplative
pleasure, the human decline and death thgt it illustrates
3

A LAODICEAN

being too obvious to escape the notice of the simplest
observer. The sketcher, as if he had been brought to
this reflection many hundreds of times before by the same
spectacle, showed that he did not wish to pursue it just
now, by turning away his face after a few moments, to
resume his architectural studies.

He took his measurements carefully, and as if he
reverenced the old workers ^vhose tiick he was en-
deavouring to acquire six hundred yeais after the original
performance had ceased and the performer« passed into
the unseen. By means of a strip of lead called a leaden
tape, which he pressed around and into the fillets and
hollows with his finger and thumb, he transferred the
exact contour of each moulding to his drawing, that lay
on a sketching-stool a few feet distant ; where were also
a sketching-block, a small T-square, a bow-pencil, and
other mathematical instruments. AV^hen he had marked
down the line thus fixed, he returned to (he doorway to
copy another as before.

It being the month of August, when the pale face of
the townsman and the stranger is to be seen among the
brown skins of remotest uplandcis, not only in England,
but throughout the teirtperate zone, few of the homeward-
bound labourers paused to notice him further than by a
momentary turn of the head. I’hey had beheld such
gentlemen before, not exactly measuring the church so
accurately^ as this one seemed to be doing, biit painting
it from a distance, or at least walking round the mouldy
pile. At the same time the present visitor, even ex-
teriorly, was not altogether commonplace. His features
were good, his eyes of the dark deep sort called eloc^uent
by the sex that pught to know, and with that ray of light
in them which announces a heart susceptible to beauty
of all kinds, — ^in wroman, in art, and in inanimate nature.
Though he would have been broadly characterized as
a youn^ man, his face bore contradictory testimonies to
his precise age. This was conceivably owing to a too

4

GEORGE SOMERSET

dominant speculative activity in him, which, while it had
preserved the emotional side of his constitution, and with
it the significant flexuousness of mouth and chin, iftA
played upon his forehead and temples till, at weary
moments, they exhibited some traces of being over-
exercised. A youthfulness about the mobile features, a
mature forehead — thoi^h not exactly what the world
has been familiar with in past ages — ^is now growing
common ; and with the advance of juvenile introspection
it probably must grow commoner still. Briefly, he had
more of the beauty — if beauty it ought to be called — of
the future human type than of the past; but not so
much as to make him other than a nice young man.

His build V as somewhat slender and tall; his com-
plexion, though a little brot^ned by recent exposure,
was that of a man who spent much of his time indoors.
Of beard he had but small show, though he was as
innocent as a Nazante of the use of the razor ; but he
possessed a moustache all-sufficient to hide the subtleties
of his mouth, which could thus be tremulous at tender
moments without provoking inconvenient cnticism.

Owing to his situation on high ground, open to the
west, he remained enveloped ifl the lingering aureate
liaze till a time when the eastern part of the churchyard
was in obscurity, and damp with rising dew. When it
was too dark to sketch further he packed up his drawing,
and, beckoning to a lad who had been idling by the
gate, directed him to carry the stool and implements
to a roadside inn which he named, lying a mile or two
ahead. The draughtsman leisurely followed the lad out
of the churchyard, and along a lane in the direction
signified.

The spectacle of a summer traveller fit)m London
sketching mediaeval details in these neo-Pasan days,
when a lull has come over the study of English Gothic
architecture, through a re-awakening to the art-forms

5

A LAODICEAN

of times that more nearly neighbour our own, is ac-
counted for by the fact that George Son^rget, son of the
Academician of that name, was a man of independent*
tastes and excursive instincts, who unconsciously, arid
perhaps unhappily, took greater pleasure in floating in
londy currents of thought than with the general tide^of
opinion. When quite a lad, in the days of the ftench-
Gothic mania which immediately succe^ed to the great
English-pointed revival under Britton, Pugin, Rickman,
Scott, and other mediaevalists, he had crept away from
the ikshion to admire what was good in Palladian and
Renaissance. As soon as Jacobean, Queen Anne, and
kindred accretions of decayed styles began tojpe popular,
he purchased such* old-school works as Revett and
Stuart, Chambers, and the rest, and worked diligently
at the Five Orders ; till quite bewildered on the question
of style, he concluded th^^ all styles were extinct, ahd
with them all architecture as a living art. Somerset was
not old enough at that time to know that, in practice,
art had at all times been as full of shifts and com-
promises as every other mundane thing; that ideal
perfection was never achieved*^ by Gre^, Goth, or
Hebrew Jew, and nevfcr would be; and thus he was
thrown into a mood of disgust with his profession,
from which mood he was only delivered by recklessly
abandoning these studies and indulging in an old en-
thusiasm for poetical literature. For two whole years
he did nothing but write verse in ^ery cohceivable
metre, and on every conceivable subject, from Words-
worthian sonnets on the singing of his tea-kettle to
epic fragments on the Fall of Empires, His discovery
at the age of five-and-tweniy that these inspired works
were not jumped at by the publishers with all the eager-
ness they deserved, coincided in point of time with 9.
severe hint from his father that unless he went on with
his legitimate profession he might have to look else*
where than at home for an allowance Mr. Someriet
6

GEORGE SOMERSET

junior then awoke to realities, became intently practical,
rushed back to his dusty drawing-boards, and worked
up the styles anew, with a view of'ijegularly starting in
practice on the hr&t day of the foUcrwii^ January.

It is an old story, perha]p$ ojAqn deseiVes the
light tone in which the soaring of a youn^ man into the
empyrean, and his descent again, is always narrated.
But as has often been said, the light and the truth may
be on the side of the dreamer : a far wider view than
the^wise ones have may be his at that recalcitrant time,
antfhis reduction to, common measure bo nothix^ less
than a tragic event. *The operation called lungmg, in
which a ha^eredi^ colt is made to trdt round Sd round
a horsebreaker who holds the rope, till the beholder
grows dizzy^ in looking at them, is a very unhappy one
for the animal concerned. During its progress the colt
springs upward,' across the Mcirde, stops, flies over the
turf with the velocity of a bird,* and indulges in all sorts
of graceful antics ; but he always ends in one
thknks to the knotted whipcord— in a level ti^fip^
the lunger with the regularity of a horizontal whe^t^
in the loss for ever tqjA character of* the bold contOtlts
which the fine hand oinSature gave it. Yet the process
is considered to be the making of him.

Whether Somerset became permanently made mider
the action of the inevitable lunge, or whether lapsed
into ipere dabbling with the artistic *side of his pepjMiien
only,*lt would be premature to say; but at anymteit
Was his contrite return to s\rchit|pcture as a calufig that
sent him on the sketching excursion under notice. Peel-
ing that something still was wanting to round off his
knowledge before he could take his professional line
with confidence, he was led to remember that his ewn
native Gothic was the one form of design that he had
totally neglected from the beginning, through its having
greeted him with wearisome iteration at tke opening of
bis career. Now it had again returned to silence; in-

7

A LAODICEAN

deed — such is the surprising instability of art *prin<
ciples’ as they are facetiously called — ^it was just as
likely as not to sink into the n^lect and oblivion
which had been its lot in Georgian times. This acci-
dent of being out of vogue lent English Gothic an
additional charm to one of his proclivities ; and away
he went to make it the business of a summer circuit
in the west.

The quiet time of evening, the secluded neighbour-
hood, the unusually gorgeous liveries of the Clouds
packed in a pile over that quarter of the heavens in
which the sun had disappeared, were such as to make
a traveller loiter on his walk. Coming to a stile,
Somerset mounted himself on the top bar, to imbibe
the spirit of the scene and hour. The evening was so
still that every trifling sound could be heard for miles.
There was the rattle of a returning waggon, mixed with
the smacks of the waggoner’s whip : the team must have
been at least three miles off. From far over the hill
came the faint periodic yell of kennelled hounds ; while
from the nearest village resounded the voices of boys at
play in the twilight. Then a powerful clock struck the
^bour j it was not from the direction of the church, but
rather flora the wood behind him; and he thought it
must be the clock of some mansion that way.

But the mind of man cannot always be forced to
take up subjects by the pressure of their material pre-
sence, and Somerset’s thoughts were often, to his great
loss, apt to be even more than common truants from
the tones and images that met his outer senses on walks
and rides. He would sometimes go quietly through the
queerest, gayest, most extraordinary town in Europe,
and let it alone, provided it did not meddle with Wm
by its beggars, beauties, innkeepers, police, coachmen,
mongrels, bad smells, and such like obstructions. This
feat of questionable utility he began performing now.
Sitting ion the three-inch ash rail that had been peeled
8

GEORGE SOMERSET

and polished like glass by the rubbings of all the smalh
clothes in the parish, he forgot the time, the place,
forgot that it was August — in short, everything of the
present altogether. His mind flew back to his past
life, and deplored the waste of time that had resulted
from his not having been able to make up his mind
which of the many fashions of art that were coming
and going in kaleidoscopic change was the true point
of departure from himself. He had suffered from the
modem malady of unlimited appreciativeness as much
as any living man of his own age. Dozens ofHiis
fellows in years and experience, who had never thought
specially of the matter, but had blunderingly applied
themselves to whatever form of art confronted them at
the moment of their making a move, were by this time
acquiring renown as new lights; while he was 'still
unknown. He wished that some accident could have
hemmed in his eyes between inexorable blinkers, and
sped him on in a channel ever so worn.

Thus balanced between believing and not believing
in his own future, he was recalled to the scene wftbottt
by hearing the notes of a familiar hymn, rising in |W)-
dued harmonies from a valley below. He listen^
more heedfully. It was his old friend the ‘New
Sabbath,' which he had never once heard since the
lisping days of childhood, and whose existence, much as
it had then been to him, he had till this moment quite
forgotten. Where the ‘ New Sabbath ' had kept itself all
these years — why that sound and hearty melody had
disappeared from all the cathedrals, parish churches,
minsters and chapels-of-ease that he had been ac-
quainted with during his apprenticeship to life, and
until his ways had become irregular and uncongrega-
tional — he could not, at first, say. But then he recol-
lected that the tune appertained to the old west-galleiy
period of church-music, anterior to the great chond
reformation and the rule of Monk — that old time when
9

A LAODICEAN

the repetition of a word, or half-line of a verse, was not
considered a disgrace to an ecclesiastical choir.

Willing to be interested in anything which would
keep him out-of-doors, Somerset dismounted from the
stile and descended the lull before him, to learn whence
the singing proceeded.

GEORGE SOMERSET

II

He found that it had its oiigin in a building stand-
ing alone in a field ; and though the evening was not
yet dark without, lights shone from the windows. In ^
few moments Somerset stood before the edifice. Being
just then en rapport with ecclesiasticism by reason of
his recent occupation, he could not help murmuring,

* Shade of Pugin, wliat a monstrosity I '

Perhaps this exclamation (rather out of date since
the discovery that Pugin himself often nodded amaz-
ingly) would not have been indulged in by Somerset
but for his new architectural resolves, which caused
professional opinions to advance themselves officiously
to his lips whenever occasion offered. The building
was, in short, a recently-erected chapel of red brick,
with pseudo - classic ornamentation, and the white re-
gular joints of mortar could be seen streaking its
surface in geometrical oppressiveness from top to
bottom. The roof was of blue slate, clean as a table,
and unbroken from gable to gable; the windows were
glazed with sheets of plate glass, a temporary iron stove-
pipe passing out near one of these, and running up to
the height of the ridge, where it was finished by a
covering like a parachute Walking round to the end,
he perceived an oblong white stone let into the wall
11

A LAODICEAN

just above the plinth, on which was inscribed in deep
letters : —

;6tecte& 187—,

AT THE SOLE EXPENSE OF

JOHN POWER, Esq., M.P.

The ‘New Sabbath* still proceeded line by line,
with all the emotional swells and cadences that had of
old characterized the tune: and the body of vocal
harmony that it evoked implied a large congregation
within, to whom it was plainly as familiar as it had
been to church-goers of a past generation. With a
whimsical sense of regret at the^ secession of his once
favourite air Somerset moved away; and would have
quite withdrawn from the field had he not at that
moment observed two young men with pitchers of
water coming up from a stream hard by, and hastening
with their burdens into the chapel vestry by a side door.
Almost as soon as they had entered they emerged
again with empty pitchers, and proceeded to the stream
to fill them as before, an operation which they repeated
several times. Somerset went forward to the stream,
and waited till the young men came out again.

‘ You aie carrying in a great deal of water,* he said,
as each dipped his pitcher.

One of the young men jnodestly replied, * Yes : we
filled the cistern this morning; but it leaks, and re-
quires a few pitcherfuls more.*

‘ Why do you do it ? *

‘ There is to be a baptism, sir.*

Somerset was not sufficiently interested to develop
a further conversation, and observing them in silence
till they had again vanished into the building, he went
on his way. Reaching the brow of the hill he stopped
and looked back. The chapel was still in view, and
the ^shades of night having deepened, the lights shone
12

QEORGE SOMERSET

from the windows yet more brightly than before. A
few steps further would hide them and the edifice, and
all that belonged to it from his sight, possibly for ever.
There was something in the thought which led him
to linger. The chapel had neither beauty, quaintness,
nor congeniality to recommend it : the dissimilitude be^
tween the new utilitarianism of the place and the scenes
of venerable Gothic art which had occupied his day-
light hours could not well be exceeded. But Somerset,
as has been said, was an instrument of no narrow gamut :
he had a key for other touches than the purely aesthetic,
even on such an excursion as this. His mind was
arrested by the intense and busy energy which must
needs belong to an assembly that required such a glare
of light to do its religion by; in the heaving of .that
tunc there was an earnestness which made him thought-
ful, and the shine of those windows he had characterized
as ugly reminded him of the shining of the good deed
in a naughty world. The chapd and its shabby plot of
ground, from which the herbage was all trodden away
by busy feet, had a living human interest that the
numerous minsters and churches knee-deep in fresh
green grass, visited by him during the foregoing week,
had often lacked. Moreover, there was going to be a
baptism : that meant the immcision of a grown-up
person ; and he had been told that Baptists were serious
people and that the scene was most impressive. What
manner of man would it be who on an ordinary plodding
and bustling evening of the nineteenth century could
single himself out as one different from the rest of the
inhabitants, banish all shyness, and come forward to
undergo such a trying ceremony? Who was he that
had pondered, gone into solitudes, wrestled with himself,
worked up his courage and said, I will do this, though
few else will, for I l^elieve it to be my duty ?

Whether on account of these thoughts, or from the
circumstance that he had been alone amongst the tombs
^3

A LAODICEAN

all day without communion with his kind, 4ie m>uld*not
tell in after years (when he had good reason to think of
the subject); but so it was that Somerset went back,
and again stood under the chapel-wall.

Instead of entering he passed round to where the
stove-chimney came through the bricks, and holding on
to the iron stay he put his toes on the plinth and looked
in at the window. The building was quite full of
people belonging to that vast majority of society who
are denied the art of articulating their higher emotions,
and crave dumbly for a fugleman — respectably dressed
working people, whose faces and forms were worn and
contorted by years of dreary toil. On a platform at the
end of the chapel a haggard man of more than middle
age, with grey whiskers ascetically cut back from the
fore part of his face so far as to be almost banished
from the countenance, stood reading a chapter. Between
the minister and the congregation was an open space,
and in the floor of this was sunk a tank full of water,
which just made its surface visible above the blackness
of its depths by reflecting the lights overhead.

Somerset endeavoured to discover which one among
the assemblage was to be the subject of the ceremony.
But nobody appeared there who was at all out of the
region of commonplace. The people were all quiet
and settled ; yet he could discern on their faces some-
thing more than attention, though it was less than
excitement: perhaps it was expectation. And as if
to bear out his surmise he heard at that moment the
noise of wheels behind him.

His gaze into the lighted chapel made what had
been an evening scene when he looked away from the
landscape night itself on looking back; but he could
see enough to discover that a brougham had driven up
to the side-door used by the young water-bearers, and
that a lady in white-and-black half-mourning was in the
act of alighting, followed by what appeared to be a

14

GEORGE SOMERSET

l<iijiting-wpull§n carrying wraps. They entered the vestiy-
of the chapel, and 'the door was shut. The
^ Service went on as before till at a certain moment the
door between vestry and chapel was opened, when a
woman came out clothed in an ample robe of flowing
white, which descended to her feet. Somerset was
unfortunate in his position ; he could not see her face,
but her gait suggested at once that she was the lady
who had arrived just before. She was rather tall than
otherwise, and the contour of her head and shoulders
denoted a girl in the heyday of youth and activity.
His imagination, stimulated by this beginning, set about
filling in the meagre outline with most attractive details.

She stood upon the brink of the pool, and the
minister descended the steps at its edge till the soles of
his shoes were moistened with the water. He turned
to the young candidate, but she did not follow him:
instead of doing so she remained rigid as a stone.
He stretched out his hand, but she still showed re-
luctance, till, with some embarrassment, he went back,
and spoke softly in her ear.

She approached the edge, looked into the water,
and turned away shaking her head. Somerset could ,
for the first time see her face. Though humanly im-
perfect, as is every face we see, it was one which made
him think that the best in woman-kind no less than
the best in psalm-tunes had gone over to the Dissenters.
He had certainly seen nobody so interesting in his tour
hitherto ; she was about twenty or twenty-one — perhaps
twenty-three, for years have a way of stealing marches
even upon beauty’s anointed. The total dissimilarity
between the expression of her lineaments and that of the
countenances around her was not a little surprising, and
was productive of hypotheses without measure as to how
she came there. She was, in fact, emphatically a modern
type of maidenhood, and she looked ultra-modern by
of her environment : a presumably sophisticated
JS

A LAODIQEAM

being among the simple ones — not wickedly so, but one
who knew life fairly well for her age. Her hahi^of good
English brown, neither light nor ^rk, was abundant —
too abundant for convenience in tying, as it seemed;
and it threw off the lamp-light in a hazy lustre. And
though it could not be said of her features that this or
I that was flawless, the nameless charm of them altogether
‘was only another insfl^ce of how beautiful a woman
can be as a whole without attaining in any one detail
Uo the lines marked out as ||||solutely correct. The
spirit and the life were there : am material shapes could
be disregarded.

Whatever moral characteristics this might be the
surface of, enough was shown to assure Somerset that
she had some experience of things far removed from her
present circumscribed horizon, and could live, and was
even at that moment living, a clandestine, stealthy inifer
life which had very little to do with her outward one.
The repression of nearly every external sign of that
distress under which Somerset knew, by a sudden in-
tuitive sympathy, that she was labouring, added stiength
to these convictions.

*And you refuse?' said the astonished minister, as
she still stood immovable on the brink of the pool. He
persuasively took her sleeve between his finger and
thumb as if to draw her; but she resented this by a
quick movement of displeasure, and he released her,
seeing that he had goner too far.

* But, my dear lady,’ he said, ‘ you promised ’ Con-
sider your profession, and that you stand in the eyes of
the whole church as an exemplar of your faith.’

* I cannot do it ! ’

‘ But your father’s memory, miss ; his last dying
request ! ’

* I cannot help it,’ she said, turning to get away.

‘You came here with the intention to fulfil the

Word?’

i6

GEORGE SOMERSET

'But I was mistaken.’

‘ Then'^iwhy did you come ? ’

She tacitly implied that to be a question she did not
care to answer. 'Please say no more to me/ she
murmured, and hastened to withdraw.

« During this unexpected dialogue (which had wMpd
Somerset’s ears through the open windows) thai J'W^^
man’s feelings had flown hithOr and thither u.

minister and lady in a most capricious manner : it'
seemed at one moment a rather uncivil thing of
charming as she was, to give the minister and the wSte^
bearers so much trouble for nothing ; the next, it seemeid
like reviving the ancient cruelties of the ducking-stool to
try to force a girl into that dark water if she had not a
mind to it. But the minister was not without insight,
and he had seen that it would be useless to say more.
The crestfallen old man had to turn round upon the
congregation and declare officially that the baptism was
postponed.

She passed through the door into the vestiy. During
the exciting moments of her recusancy there had been a
perceptible flutter among the sensitive members of the
congregation ; nervous Dissenters seeming to be at one
with nervous Episcopalians in this at least, that they
heartily disliked a scene during service. Calm was re-
stored to their minds by the minister starting a rather
long hymn in minims and semibreves, amid the singing
of which he asQimded the pulpit. His face had a severe
and even denunciatory look as he gave out his text, and
Somerset began to understand that this meant mischief
to the young person who had caused the hitch.

' In the third chapter of Revelation and the fifteenth
and following verses, you will find these words : —

“‘7 know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot:
I would thou wert cold or hot So then because thou art

lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, / will spue thee out of
nlltl^iltSlth . . . Thou sayest, I am rich, and increased
17 B

A LAODICEAN

with goods, and have need of nothing; and hnowest not
that thdu i^t wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind,
and ndktdl^ *

The sermon straightway began, and it was soon
apparent *that the commentary was to be no less forcible
than the text. It was also apparent that the words were,
virtually, not directed forward in the line in which they
were uttered, but through the chink of the vestry-door,
that had stood slightly ajar since the exit of the young
lady. The listeners appeared to feel this no less than
Somerset did, for their eyes, one and all, became fixed
upon that vestry door as if they would almost push it
open by the force of their gazing. The preacher^s heart
was full and bitter ; no book or note was wanted by him ;
never was spontaneity more absolute than here. It was
no timid reproof of the ornamental kind, but a direct
denunciation, all the more vigorous perhaps from the
limitation of mind and language under which the speaker
laboured. Yet, fool that he had been made by the
candidate, there was nothing acrid in his attack. Genuine
flashes of rhetorical fire were occasionally struck by that
plain and ^cimple man, who knew what straightforward
conduct was, and who did not know the illimitable
caprice of a woman's mind.

At this moment there was not in the whole chapel a
person whose imagination was not centred on what was
invisibly taking place within tlie vestry. The thunder
of the minister's eloquence echoed, of course, through
the weak* sister's cavern of retreat no less than round
the public assamhly. What she was doing inside there
— whether listejfcig contritely, or haughtily hastening to
put on her things and get away from the chapel and all
it contained — ^was obviously the thought of each member.
What changes were tracing themselves upon that lovely
face; did it rise to phases of Raffaelesque resignation
or sink so low as to flush and frown ? was Somerset's
inquiry; and a half-explanation occurred when,

G%bRGE SOMERSET

' the discourse, the door which had been ajar was gently
pushed to.

Looking on as a stranger it seemed to him more than
probable that this young woman’s power dif4y>ersisthnce
in her unexpected repugnancef to the rite was Strengthened
by wealth and position of some sort, and was hot the
unassisted gift of natiure. The manner of her arrival,
and her dignified bearing before the assembly, strength-
ened the belief. A woman who did not feel something
extraneous to her mental self to fall back upon would
be so far overawed by the people and the crisis as not
to retain sufficient resolution for a change of mind.

The sermon ended, the minister wiped his steaming
face and turned down his cuffs, and nods and sagacious
glances went lound. Yet many, even of those who had
presumably passed the same ordeal with credit, exhibited
gentler judgment than the preacher’s on a tergiversation
of which they had probably recognized some germ in
their own bosoms when in the lady’s situation.

For Somerset there was but one scene : the imagined
scene of the girl herself as she sat alone in the vestry.
The fervent congregation rose to sing again, and then
Somerset heard a slight noise on his left hand which
caused him to turn his head. The brougham, which
had retired into the field to wait, was back again at the
door : the subject of his rumination came out from Ike
chapel — not in her mystic robe of white, but dressed in
ordinary fashionable costume — ^followed as before by the
attendant with other articles of clothing on her arm,
including the white gown. Somerset ^nded that the
younger woman was drying her eyes 'with her hand-
kerchief, but there was not much lime to see: they
quickly entered the carriage, and it moved on. * Then
a cat suddenly mewed, and he saw a white Persian
standing forlorn where the carriage had been. The
door was opened, the cat taken in, and the carriage
drove away.

*9

A LAODICEAN

The stranger’s girlish form stamped itself deeply on
Somerset’s soul, fie strolled on his way quite i^vious
to the fact that the^moon had just risen, and USt the
landscape was one for him to linger over, especially if
there were any Gothic architecture in the line of the
lunar rays. The inference was that though this girl
must be of a serious turn of mind, wilfulness was not
foreign to her composition: and it was probable that
her daily doings evinced without much abatement by
religion the unbroken spirit and pride of life natural to
her age.

The little village inn at which Somerset intended
to pass the night lay a mile further on, and retracing
his way up to the stile he rambled along the lane, now
beginning to be streaked like a zebra with the shadows
of some young trees that edged the road. But his
attention was attracted to the other side of the way by a
hum as of a night-bee, which arose from the play of the
breezes over a single wire of telegraph running parallel
with his track on tall poles that had appeared by the
road, he hardly knew when, from a branch route, pro-
bably leading from some town in the neighbourhood to
the village he was approaching. He did not know the
population of Sleeping-Green, as the village of his search
was called, but the presence of this mark of civilization
seemed to signify that its inhabitants were not quite so
far in the rear of their age as might be imagined; a
glance at the still ungrassed heap of earth round the
foot of each post was, however, sufficient to show that
it was at no very remote period that they had made
their advance.

Aided by this friendly wire Somerset had no difficulty
in keeping his course, till he reached a point in the
ascent of a hill at which the telegraph branched off from
the road, passing through an opening in the hedge, to
strike across an undulating down, while the road wound
round to the left. For a few moments Somerset doubted
ao

GEORGE SOMERSET

and stood still. The wire sang on overhead with dying
falls and melodious rises that invited him to folio#;
while above the wire rode the stars in their couidtei the
low nocturn of the former seeming tq^ the voices of
those stars,

* Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim.*

Recalling himself from these reflections Somerset
decided to follow the lead of the wire. It was not the
first time during his present tour that he had found
his way at night by the help of these musical threads
which the post-office authorities had erected all over the
country for quite another purpose than to guide belated
travellers. Plunging with it across the down he came
to a hedgeless road that entered a park or chase, which
flourished in all its original wildness. Tufts of rushes
and brakes of fern rose from the hollows, and the road
was in places half overgrown with green, as if it had
not been tended for many years; so much so that,
where shaded by trees, he found some difficulty in
keeping it. Though he had noticed the remains of a
deer-fence further back no deer were visible, and it was
scarcely possible that there should be any in the existing
state of things: but rabbits were multitudinous, every
hillock being dotted with thdr seated figures till Somerset
approached and sent them limping into their burrows.
The road next wound round a clump of underwood
beside which lay heaps of faggots for burning, and then
there appeared against the sky thb walls ax)d towers of a
castle, hdf ruin, half residence, standing onr an eminence
hard

Somerset stopped to examine it. The castle was not
occeptionally large, but it had all the characteristics of
its most important fdlows. Irregular, dilapidated, and
muffled in creqiers as a great portion of it was, some part
— ^ comparative^ modem wing««-^as inhabited, to a

A LAODICEAN

light or two steadily gleamed from some upper windows;
in others a reflection of the moon denoted that unbroken
glass yet filled their casements. Over all rose the keep,
i square solid tower apparently not much injured by
wars or weather, and darkened with ivy on one side,
wherein wings could be heard flapping uncertainly, as if
they belonged to a bird unable to find a proper perch.
Hissing noises supervened, and then a hoot, proclaiming
that a brood of young owls were residing there in the
company of older ones. In spite of the habitable and
more modern wing, neglect and decay had set their
mark upon the outworks of the pile, unfitting them for
a more positive light than that of the present hour.

He walked up to a modern arch spanning the ditch
— now dry and green — over which the drawbridge once
had swung. The large door under the porter's archway
was closed and locked. While standing here the singing
of the wire, which for the last few minutes he had quite
forgotten, again struck upon his car, and retreating to a
convenient place he observed its final course : from the
poles amid the trees it leaped across the moat, over
the girdling wall, and thence by a tremendous stretcli
towards the keep where, to judge by sound, it vanished
through an arrow-slit into the interior. This fossil of
feudalism, then, was the journey's-end of the wire, and
not the village of Sleeping-Green.

There was a certain unexpectedness in the fact that
the hoary memorial of a stolid antagonism to the inter-
change of ideas, the monument of hard distinctions in
blood and race, of deadly mistrust of one’s neighbour in
spite of the Church’s teaching, and of a sublime uncon-
sciousness of any other force than a brute one, should
be the goal of a machine which beyond everything may
be said to symbolize cosmopolitan views and the intel-
lectual and moral kinship of all mankind. In that light
the little buzzing wire had a far finer significance to the
student Somerset than the vast walls wMch neighboured
22

GEORGE. SOMERSET

it But the modern fever and fret which consumes
people before thqr can grow old was also signified by
the wire; and this aspect of to-day did not contrast
well with the fairer side of feudalism — leisure, light-
hearted generosity, intense friendships, hawks, hounds,
revels, healthy complexions, freedom from care, and
such a living power in architectural art as the world
may never again see.

Somerset withdrew till neither the singing of the wire
nor the hisses of the irritable owls could be heard any
more. A clock in the castle struck ten, and he recog-
nized the strokes as those he had heard when sitting on
the stile. It was indispensable that he should retrace
his steps and push on to Sleeping-Green if he wished
that night to reach his lodgings, which had been secured
by letter at a little mn in the straggling line of roadside
houses called by the above name, where his luggage had
by this time proliably arrived. In a quarter of an hour
he was again at the point where the wire left the road,
and following the highway over a hill he saw the hamlet
at his feet.

A LAODICEAN

III

By half-past ten the next, morning Somerset was once
more approaching the precincts of the building which
had interested him the night before. Referring to his
map he had learnt tlfiit it bore the name of Stancy Castle
or Castle de Stancy ; and he had been at once struck
with its familiarity, though he had never understood its
position in the county, believing it further to the west.
If report spoke truly there was some excellent vaulting
in the interior, and a change of study from ecclesiastical
to secular Gothic was not unwelcome for a while.

The entrance-gate was open now, and under the
archway the outer ward was visible, a great part of it
being laid out as a flower-garden. This was in process
of clearing from weeds and rubbish by a set of gardeners,
and the so9 was so encumbered that in rooting out
the weeds such few hardy flowers as still remained in
the beds were mostly brought up with them. The
groove wherein the portcullis had run was as fresh as if
only cut yesterday, the very tooling of the stone being
visible. Close to this hung a bell-pull formed of a large
wooden acorn attached to a vertical rod. Somerset’s
application brought a woman from the porter’s door,
who informed him that the day before having been the
weekly show-day for visitors, it was doubtful if he could
be admitted now.

24

GEORGE SOMERSET

< Who is at home ? ’ said Somerset.

< Only Miss de Stancy/ the porteress replied.

His dreaSTof l^eing* considered an intruder was such
that he thought at first there was no help for it but to
wait till the next week. But he had already through
his want of effrontery lost a sight of many interiors,
whose exhibition would have been rather a satisfaction
to the inmates than a trouble. It was inconvenient to
wait ; he knew nobody in the neighbourhood from whom
he could get an introductory letter : he turned and passed
the woman, crossed the ward where the gardeners were
at work, over a second and smaller bridge, and up a
flight of stone stairs, open to thelAy, along whose steps
sunburnt Tudor soldiers and other renowned dead men
had doubtless many times walked, tt led to the prin-
cipal door on this side. 'Fhence he could observe the
walls of the lower court in detail, and the old mosses
with which they were padded — mosses that from time
immemorial had been burnt brown every summer, and
every winter had grown green again. The arrow-slit
and the electric wire that entered it, like a worm uneasy
at being unearthed, were distinctly visible now. So
also was the clock, not, as he had supposed, a chrono-
meter coeval with the fortress itself, but new and shining,
and bearing the name of a recent maker.

The door was opened by a bland, intensi|ly shaven
man out of livery, who took Somerset’s name and
politely worded request to be allowed to inspect the
architecture of the more public portions of the castle.
He pronounced the word * architecture ’ in the tone of
a man who knew and practised that art ; < for,’ he said
to himself, * if she thinks I am a mere idle tourist, it
will not be so well.’

No suich uncomfortable consequences ensued. Miss
De Stancy had great pleasure in giving Mr. Somerset
full permission to walk through whatever parts of the
building be diose.

•5

A LAODICEAN

He followed the butler into the inner buildings of the
fortress, the ponderous thickness of whose walls made
itself felt like a physical pressure. An internal s^ne
staircase, ranged round four sides of a square, was n«(t
revealed, leading at the top of one flight into a spacious
hall, which seemed to occupy the whole area of the
keep. From this apartment a corridor floored with
black oak led to the more modem wing, where light and
air were treated in a less gingerly fashion.

Here passages were broader than in the oldest por>
tion, and upholstery enlisted in the service of the fine
arts hid to a great extent the coldness of the walls.

Somtsrset was now left to himself, and roving freely
from toom to room he found time to inspect the
different objects of interest that abounded there. Not
all the chambers, even of the habitable division, were
in use as dwelling-rooms, though these were still numer-
ous enough for the wants of an ordinary country &mily.
In a long gallery with a coved ceiling of arabesques
which had once been gilded, hung a series of paintings
representing the past personages of the De Stancy line.
It was a remarkable array — even more so on account
of the incredibly neglected condition of the canvases
than for the artistic peculiarities they exhibited. Many
of the frames were dropping apart at their rngles, and
some of the canvas was so dingy that the face of the
person depicted was only distinguishable as the moon
through mist. For the colour they had now they might
have been painted during an eclipse; while, to judge
by the webs tying them to the wall, the spiders that ran
up and down their backs were such as to make the fair
originals shudder in their graves.

He wondered how many of the lofty foreheads and
smiling lips of this pictorial pedigree could bn credited
as true reflections of their prototype*. Some were
wilfully false, no doubt ; many nv)re so by unavoidable
accident and want of skill. Somerset felt that it re-
*6

GBOBOE SOMERSET

quired a profounder mind than his to disinter from the
lumber of conventionality the lineaments that really sat
in the painter’s presence, and to discover their history
behind the curtain of mere tradition.

The painters of this long collection were those who
usually appear in such places; Holbein, Jansen, and
Vandyck; Sir Peter, Sir Geoffrey, Sir Joshua, and Sir
Thomas. Their sitters, too, had mostly been sirs ; Sir
William, Sir John, or Sir George De S^oip-some
undoubtedly having a nolnlity stampedlH|)^ them
beyond that conferred by their robes and orders; and
others not so fortunate. Their respective ladies hung
by their sides — feeble and wateij, or fat and comfort-
able, as the case might be; also theif fathers and
mothers-in law, their brothers and remoter relatives;
their contemporary reigning princes, and their intimate
friends. Of the De Stancys pure there ran through the
collection a mark by which they might surely have been
recognized as members of one family ; this feature being
the upper part of the nose. Every one, even if lacking
other points in common, had the special indent at this
point in the face — sometimes moderate in degree, some-
times excessive.

While looking at the pictures — which, though not in
his regular line of study, interested Somerset more than
the architecture, because of their singular dilapidation,
it occurred to his mind that he had in his youth been
schoolfellow for a very short time with a pleasant boy
bearing a surname attached to one of the paintings —
the name of Ravensbuiy. The boy had vanished he
knew not how — he thought he had been removed from
school suddenly on account of ill health. But the re-
collection was vague, and Somerset moved on to the
rooms ab^ve and below. In addition to the architec-
tural details oC which he had as yet obtained but
glimpses, there was a great collection of old movables
and other domestic art-work — all more than a century
37

A LAODICEAN

old, and mostly lying as lumber. There were suites of
tapestry hangings, common and fine ; green and scarlet
leather-work, on which the gilding was still but little
injured ; venerable damask curtains ; quilted silk table-
covers, ebony cabinets, worked satin window-cushions,
carved bedsteads, and embroidered bed-furniture which
had apparently screened no sleeper for these many years.
Downstairs there was also an interesting collection of
armour, together with several huge trunks and doffers.
A great many of them had been recently taken out and
cleaned, as if a long dormant interest in them were
suddenly revived. Doubtless they were those which
had been used by the living originals of the phantoms
that looked down from the frames.

This excellent hoard of suggestive designs for wood-
work, metal-work, and work of other sorts, induced
Somerset to divert his studies from the ecclesiastical
direction, to acquire some new ideas from the objects
here for domestic application. Yet for the present he
was inclined to keep his sketch-book closed and his
ivory rule folded, and devote himself to a general
survey. Emerging from the ground-floor by a small
doorway, he found himself on a terrace to the north-
east, and on the other side than that by which he had
entered. It was bounded by a parapet breast high,
over which a view of the distant country met the eye,
stretching from the foot gf the slope to a distance of
many miles. Somerset went and leaned over, and
looked down upon the tops of the bushes beneath.
The prospect induded the village he had passed through
on the previous day : and amidst the green lights and
shades 0f the meadows he could discern the red brick
chapel whose recaldtrant inmate had so engrossed him.

Before his attention had long strayed ovfir the in-
cident which romanticized that utilitaita structure, he
beeame aware that he was not the only person who was
IqefelHB'firom the terrace towards that point of the com-
si

GEORGE SOMERSET

pass. At the right-hand comer, in a niche of the curtain-
wall, reclined a girlish shape; and asleep on the bench
over which she leaned was a white cat — the identical
Persian as it seemed — that had been taken into the
carriage at the chapel-door.

Somerset began to muse on the probability or o^her-
\vise of the backsliding Baptist and this young- lady
resulting in one and the same person; and almost
without knowing it he found himself deeply hoping for
such a unity. The object of his inspection was idly
leaning, and this somewhat disguised her figure. It
might have been tall or short, curvilinear or angular.
She carried a light sunshade which she fitfully twirled
until, thmsting it back over her shoulder, her head was
revealed sufficiently to show that she wore no hat or
bonnet. This token of her being an inmate of the
castle, and not a visitor, rather damped his expectations :
but he persisted in believing her look towards the chapel
must have a meaning in it, till she suddenly stood erect,
and revealed herself as short in stature — almost dumpy
— at the same time giving him a distinct view of her
profile. She was not at all like the heroine of the
chapel. He saw the dinted nose of the De Stancys
outlined with Holbein shadowlessness against the blue-
green of the distant wood. It was not the De Stancy
face with all its original specialities : it was, so to speak,
a defective reprint of that face : for the nose tried hard
to turn up and deal utter confusion to the family shape.

As for the rest of the countenance, Somerset was
obliged to own that it was not beautiful : Natum had
done there many things that she ought not to have
done, and left undone much that she should have
executed. It would have been decidedly plain but for
a precious quality which no perfection of chiselling can
give when the temperament denies it, and which no
facial irregularity can take away — a tender affectionate-
ness whi(^ might almost be called yearning; such as
*9

A LAODICEAN

is often seen in the women of Correggio when they are
painted in profile. But the plain features of Miss De
Stancy — who she undoubtedly was — were rather severely
handled by Somerset’s judgment owing to his impression
of the prewous night. A beauty of a sort would have
been lent by the flexuous contours of the mobile parts
but for that unfortunate condition the poor girl was
burdened with, of having to hand on a traditional
feature with which she did not find herself otherwise
in harmony.

She glanced at him for a moment, and showed by
an imperceptible movement that he had made his
presence felt. Not to embarrass her Somerset hastened
to withdraw, at the same time that she passed round
to the other part of the terrace, followed by the cat, in
whom Somerset could imagine a certain denominational
cast of countenance, notwithstanding her company. But
as white cats are much alike each other at a distance,
it was reasonable to suppose this creature was not the
same one as that possessed by the beauty.

OSOROB SOMERSET

IV

H E descended the stone stairs to a lower story ol the
castle, in which was a crypt-like hall covered by vaulting
of exceptional and massive ingenuity :

* Built ere the ait was known,

By pointed aisle and shafted stalk
The arcades of an alleyed walk
To emulate in stone/

It happened that the central pillar whereon the vaults
rested, reputed to exhibit some of the most hideous
grotesques in England upon its capital, was within a
locked door. Somerset was tempted to ask a servant
for permission to open it, till he heard that the inner
room was temporarily used for plate, the key being kept
by Miss De Stancy, at which he said no more. But
afterwards the active housemaid redescended the stone
steps ; she entered the crypt with a bunch of keys in
one hand, and in the other a candle, followed by the
young lady whom Somerset had seen on the terrace.

‘I shall be very glad to unlock anything you may
want to see. So few people take any real interest in
what is here that we do not leave it open.*

Somerset expressed his thanks.

Miss De Stancy, a little to his surprise, had a touch
of lusticity in her manner, and that forced absence of

31

A LAODICEAN

reserve which seclusion from society lends to young
women more frequently than not. She seemed glad to
have something to do; the arrival of Somerset was
plainly an event sufficient to set some little mark upon
her day. Deception had been written on the faces of
those frowning walls in their implying the insignificance
of Somerset, when he found Aem tenanted only by this
little woman whose life was narrower than his own.

‘ We have not been here long,* continued Miss T)e
Stancy, * and that*s why everything is in such a dilapidated
and confused condition.*

Somerset entered the dark store-closet, thinking less
of the ancient pillar revealed by the light of the candle
than what a singular remark the latter was to come from
a member of the family which appeared to have been
there five centuries. He held the candle above his
head, and walked round, and presently Miss De Stancy
came back.

‘There is another vault below,* she said, with the
severe face of a young woman who speaks only because
it is absolutely necessary. ‘ Perhaps you are not a>vare
of it ? It was the dungeon : if you wish to go down
there too, the servant will show you the way. It is not
at all ornamental: rough, unhewn arches and clumsy
piers.*

Somerset thanked her, and would perhaps take
advantage of her kind offer when he had examined the
spot where he was, if it were not causing inconvenience.

‘No; I am sure Paula will be glad to know that
anybody thinks it interesting to go down there — which
is more than she does herself.*

Some obvious inquiries were suggested by this, but
Somerset said, ‘ I have seen the pictures, and have been
much struck by them; partly,’ he added, with some
hesitation, ‘ because one or two of them reminded me
of a schoolfellow — think his name was John Ravens-
bury?*

3a

GEORGE SOMERSET

‘ Yes/ she said, almost eagerly. ‘ He was my cousiaP^

* So that we are not quite strangers ? * 4

‘ But he is dead now. ... He was unfortunate : he

was mostly spoken of as “ that unlucky boy.” . . . You
know, I suppose, Mr. Somerset, why the paintings are
in such a decaying state* — it is owing to the peculiar
treatment of the castle during Mr. Wilkins’s time. He
was blind; so one can imagine he did not appreciate
such things as there are here.’

‘ Tlie c astle has been shut up, you mean ? ’

* O yes, for many years. But it will not be so again.
We are going to have the pictures cleaned, and the
frames mended, and the old pieces of furniture put in
Ihcir proper places. It will be very nice then. Did
you see those in the cast closet ? ’

* I have only seen those in the gallery.’

‘I will just show you the way to the others, if you
would like to see them ? ’

They ascended to the room designated the east
closet. The paintings here, mostly of smaller size,
were in a better condition, owing to the fact that they
were hung on an inner wall, and had hence been kept
free from damp. Somerset inquired the names and
histories of one or two.

really don’t quite know,’ Miss T)e Stancy replied
after some thought. * But Paula knows, 1 am sure, h
don’t study them much — I don’t see the use of it.*
She swung her sunshade, so that it fell open, and
turned it up till it fell shut. ‘ I have never been able
to give much attention to ancestors,’ she added, with
her eyes on the parasol.

* These are your ancestors ? ’ he asked, for her pofifr*
tion and tone were matters i^hich perplexed him. In
spite of the family likeness and other details he could
scaredy believe this frank and communicative country
maiden to be the modem representative of the De
Stancys.

33

c

A LAODICEAN

*0 yes, they certainly are,’ she said, laughing
* People say I am like them : I don’t know if I am —
well, yes, I know I am : 1 can see that, of course, any
day. But they have gone from my family, and perhaps
it is just as well that they should have gone. . . . They
are useless,* she added, with s^ene conclusiveness.

‘ Ah ! they have gone, have they ? *

‘Yes, castle and furniture went together: it was
long ago-r-long before I was born. It doesn’t seem to
me as if the place ever belonged t<j^a relative of mine.’

Somerset corrected his smiling manner to one of
solicitude.

‘ But you live here, Miss De Stancy ? ’

‘Yes — a great deal now; though sometimes I go
home to sleep.’

‘ This is home to you, and not home ? '

‘ I live here with Paula — my friend : I have not
been here long, neither has she. For the first six
months after her father’s death she did not come here
at all*

They walked on, gazing at the walls, till the young
man said : ‘ I fear I may be making some mistake ;
but I am sure you will pardon my inquisitiveness this
once. Who is Paula ? *

‘ Ah, you don’t know ! Of course you don’t-i^|gal
changes don’t get talked of far away. She is the TOlSer
of this castle and estate. My father sold it when he
was quite a young man, years before I was born, and
not long after his father’s death. It was purchased by
a man named Wilkins, a rich man who became blind
soon after he had bought it, and never lived here ; so it
was left uncared for.’

She went out upon the terrace ; and without exactly
knowing why, Somerset followed.

‘ Your friend ’

‘ Has only come here quite recently. She is away
from home to-day. ... It was very sad,’ murmured
34

GEORGE SOMERSET

the young girl thoughtfully. ‘No sooner had Mr.
Power bought it of the representatives of Mr. Wilkins
— almost immediately indeed — than he died from a
chill caught after a warm bath. On account of that she
did not take possession for several months ; and even
now she has only had a few rooms, prepared as a tem-
poraiy residence till she can think what to do. Poor
thing, it is sad to be left alone ! *

Somerset heedfully remarked that he thought he
recognized that name Power, as one he had seen lately,
somewhere or other.

‘ Perhaps you have been hearing of her father. Do
you know what he was ? *

Somerset did not.

She looked across the distant country, where undula-
tions of dark-green foliage formed a prospect extending
lor miles. And as she watched, and SomersePs eyes,
led by hers, watched also, a white streak of steam, thin
as a cotton thread, could be discerned ploughing that
green expanse. ‘Her father made Ihat^ Miss De
Stancy said, directing her finger towards the object.

‘ That what ? ’

‘That railway. He was Mr. John Power, the great
railway contractor. And it was through making the
railway that he discovered this castle — the railway was
diverted a little on its account.’

‘ A clash between ancient and modern.’

‘Yes, but he took an interest in the locality long
before he purchased the estate. And he built the people
a chapel on a bit of freehold he bought for them. He
was a great Nonconformist, a staunch Baptist up to tho
day of his death — a much stauncher one,’ she said
significantly, ‘ than his daughter is.’

‘ Ah, I begin to spot her ! ’

* You have heard about the baptism ? ’

‘ I know something of it.’

‘ Her conduct has given mortal offence to the scattered

35

A LAODICEAN

people of the denomination that her father was at such
pains to unite into a body.’

Somerset could guess the remainder, and in thinking
over the circumstances did not state what he had seen.
She added, as if disappointed at his want of curiosity —

‘She would not submit to the rite when it came
to the point. The water looked so cold and dark
and fearful, she said, that she could not do it to save
her life.’

‘ Surely she should have known her mind before she
had gone so far ? ’ Somerset’s words had a condemna-
tory form, but perhaps his actual feeling was that if Miss
Power had known her own mind, she would have not
interested him half so much.

‘ Paula’s own mind had nothing to do with it ! ’ said
Miss De Stancy, warming up to staunch partizanship
in a moment. ‘ It was all undertaken by her from a
mistaken sense of duty. It was her father’s dying wish
that she should make public profession of her — what do
you call it — of the denomination she belonged to, as
|Oon as she felt herself fit to do it : so when he was dead
she tried and tried, and didn’t get any more fit ; and at
last she sefewed herself up to the pitch, and thought she
must undergo the ceremony out of pure reverence for
his memory. It was very short-sighted of her father to
put her in such a position : because she is now very sad, '
as she feels she can never try again after such a sermon
as was delivereft against her.’ "

Somerset presumed that Miss Power need not have
heard this Knox or Bossuet of hers if she had chosen to
go away ?

‘ She did not hear it in the face of the congregation ;
but from the vestry. She told me some of it when she
reached home. ^ Would you believe it, the man who
preached so bitterly is a tenant of hers ? I said, * Surely
you will turn him out of his bouse ? ’ — But she Answered,
in her calm, deep, nice way; that she supposed he had a

36

GEORGE SOMERSET

perfect right to preach against her, that she could not in
justice molest him at all. I wouldn’t let him stay if the
house were mine. But she has often before flowed
him to scold her from the pulpit in a smaller way — on65
it was about an expenave dress she had worn — not
mentioning her by name, you know ; but all the people
are quite aware that it is meant for her, because only
one person of her wealth or position belongs to the
Baptist body in this county.'

Somerset was looking at the homely affectionate face
of the little speaker. ‘ You are her good friend, I am
sure,’ he remarked.

She looked into the distant air with tacit admission
of the impeachment. ‘ So would you be if you knew
her,’ she said ; and a blush slowly rose to her cheek, as
if tlie person spoken of had been a lover rather than a
friend.

‘But you are not a Baptist any more than I?’
continued Somerset.

‘O no. And I never knew one till I knew Paula
1 think they are very nice; though I sometimes wj|h
Paula was not one, but the religion of xeasonable
persons.’

They walked on, and came opposite to where the
telegraph emerged from the trees, leapt over the parapet,
and up through the loophole into the interior.

‘That looks strange in such a building,’ said her
companion. ^ %

‘ Miss Power had it put up to know the latest news
from- town. It costs six pounds a mile. She can work
it herself, beautifully: and so can I, but not so wdl.
It was a great delight to learn. Miss Power was so
interested at first that* she was sending messages from*
morning till night. And did you h^ the new clock ? %

‘Is it a new one? — ^Yes, t beard Jt.’

‘ The old one was quite worn out ; so Paula has put
it in the cellar, and had this new one made, though it
37

A LAODICEAN

still strikes on the’ old bell. It tells the seconds, but
the old one, which my very great grandfather erect^ in
the eighteenth centuiy, only told the hours. Paula says
that time, being so much more valuable now, must of
course be cut up into smaller pieces.*

* She does not appear to be much impressed by the
spirit of this ancient pile.*

Miss De Stancy shook her head too slightly to express
absolute negation.

‘Do you wish to come through this door?* she
asked. ‘There is a singular chimney-piece in the
kitchen, which is considered a unique example of its
kind, though I myself don’t know enough about it to
have an opinion on the subject,*

When they had looked at the corbelled chimney-piece
they returned to the hall, where his eye was caught anew
by a4arge map that he had conned for some time when
alone, without being able to divine the locality repre-
sented. It was called ‘General Plan of the Town,*
and showed streets and open spaces corresponding with
nothing he had seen in the county.

‘ Is that town here ? * he asked.

‘ It is not anywhere but in Paula’s brain ; she has laid
it out from her own design. The site is supposed to
be near our railway station, just across there, v^^here the
land belongs to her. She is going to grant cheap building
leases, and develop the manufacture of pottery.*

‘ Pottery — how very practical she must be I *

‘ O no ! no ! * replied Miss De Stancy, in tones show-
ing how supremely ignorant he must be of Miss Power’s
nature if he characterized her in those terms. ‘ It is
Greek pottery she means — Hellenic pottery she tells me
to call it, only I forget. There y beautiful clay at the
place, her father told her : he found it in making the
railway tunnel. She has Visited the British Museum,
continental museums, and Greece, and Spain : and
hopes to imitate the old fictile work in time, especially
38

GEORGE SOMERSET

the Greek of the best period, four hundred years after
Christ, or before Christ — I forget which it was Paula
said. ... O no, she is not practical in the sense you
mean, at all.’

‘ A mixed young lady, rather.’

Miss De Stancy appeared unable to settle whether
this new definition of her dear friend should be accepted
as kindly, or disallowed as decidedly sarcastic. ‘You
would like her if you knew her/ she insisted, in half
tones of pique ; after whic h she walked on a few steps.

‘ I think very highly of her,’ said Somerset.

‘ And I'l And yet at one time I could never have
believed that I should have been her friend. One is
prejudiced at first against people who are reported to
have such (lifferenccs in feeling, associations, and habit,
as she seemed to have from mine. But "it has not
stood in the least in the way of our liking each other.
I believe the diflerence makes us the more united.’

‘It says a great deal for the liberality of both,*
answered Somerset warmly. ‘ Heaven send us more of
the same sort of people! They are not too numerous
at present.’

As this remark called for no reply from Miss De
Stancy, she took advantage of an opportunity to leave
him alone, first repeating her permission to him to
wander where he would. He walked about for some
time, sketch-book in hand, but was conscious that his
interest did not lie much in the architecture. In pass-
ing along the corridor of an upper floor he observed
an open door, through which was visible a room con-
taining one of the finest Renaissance cabinets he had
ever seen. It was impossible, on close examination,
to do justice to it i§ a hasty sketch; it would be
necessary to measure every line if he would bring away
anything of utility to him as a designer. Deciding to
reserve this gem for another opportunity he cast his
eyes round the room and blushed a little. Without
39

A!» LAODICEAN

knowing it he had intruded into the absent Miss Paula’s
own particuku: set of chambers, including a boudoir and
sleeping apartment. On the tables of the sitting-room
were most of the popular papers and periodicals that
he knew, not only English, but from Paris, Italy, and
America. Satirical prints, though they did not unduly
preponderate, were not wanting. Besides these there
were books frbm a London circulating library, paper-
covered light literature in French and choice Italian,
and the latest monthly reviews ; while between the two
windows stood the telegraph apparatus whose wire had
been the means of bringing him hither.

These things, ensconced amid so much of %ie old
and hoary, were as if a stray hour from the nineteenth
century had wandered like a butterfly into the thirteenth,
and lost itself there.

The door between this ante-chamber and the sleeping-
room stood open! Without venturing to cross Ijie
threshold, for he felt that he would be abusing hospi-
tality to go so far, Somerset looked in for a moment.
It was a pretty place, and seemed to have been hastily
fitted up. In a corner, overhung by a blue and white
canopy of silk, was a little cot, hardly large enough to
impress the character of bedroom upon the old place.
Upon a counterpane lay a parasol and a silk necker
chief. On the other side of the room was a tall mirror
of startling newness, draped like the bedstead, in blue
and white. Thrown at random upon the floor was a
pair of satin slippers that would have fitted Cinderella.
A dressing-gown lay across a settee ; and opposite, upon
a small easy-chair in the same blue and white livery,
were a Bible, the Baptist Magazine^ Wardlaw on Infant
Baptism, Walford’s County Fai^ilies, and the Court
Journal. On and over the mantelpiece were nicknacks
of various descriptions, and photographic portraits of the
artistic, scientific, and literary celebrities of the day.

A dressing-room lay beyond; but, becoming con-

40

GEORGE SOMERSiPt

scious that his study of ancient architecture Would
hardly bear stretching further in that direction, Mr.
Somerset retreated to the outside^ obliviously passing by
the gem of Renaissance that had led him in.

‘ She affects blue,* he was thinking. ‘ Then she is
fair.*

On looking up, some time later, at the nfew clock
that told the seconds, he found that the hours at his
disposal for work had flown without his having trans-
ferred a single feature of tht building or furniture to his
sketch-book. Before leaving he sent in for permission
to come again, and then walked across the fields to
the inn at 'Sleeping-Green, reflecting less upon Miss De
Stlincy (so little force of presence had she possessed)
than upon the modem flower in a mediaeval flower-pot
whom Miss De Stancy’s information had brought before
him, and upon the incongruities that were daily shaping
themselves in the world under the great modem fluc-
tuations of classes and creeds.

Somerset w\as still full of the subject when he arrived
at the end of his walk, and he fancied that some loungers
at the bar of the inn were discussing the heroine of the
chapel-scene just at the moment of his entry. On this
account, when the landlord came to clear away the
dinner, Somerset was led to inquire of him, by way of
opening a conversation, if there were many Baptists in
the neighbourhood.

The landlord (who was a serious man on the surface,
though he occasionally smiled beneath) replied that
there were a great many — far more than the average in
country parishes. ‘ Even here, in my house, now,* he
added, ‘ when volks get a drop of drink into ’em, and
their feelings rise to a zong, some man will strike up a
hymn by preference. But I find no fault with that ; for
though ’tis hardly human nature to be so calculating in
yer cups, a feller may as well sing to gain something as
sing to waste,*

41

A LAODICEAN

‘ How do you account for there being so many ? '

* Weil, you zee, sir, some says one thing, and some
another ; I think they docs it to save the expense of a
Christian burial for ther children. Now there^s a poor
family out in Long Lane — ^the husband used to smite
for Jimmy More the blacksmith till ’a hurt his arm —
they^d have no less than eleven children if they’d not
been lucky t’other way, and buried five when they were
three or four months old. Now every one of them
children was given to the sexton in a little box that
any journeyman could nail together in a quarter of an
hour, and he buried ’em at night for a shilling a head ;
whereas ’twould have cost a couple of pounds each if
they’d been christened at church. ... Of course there’s
the new lady at the castle, she’s a chapel member, and
that may make a little difference; but she’s not been
here long enough to show whether ’twill be worth while
to join ’em for the profit o’t or whether ’twill not. No
doubt if it turns out that she’s of a sort to relieve volks
in trouble, more will join her set than belongs to it
already. “ Any port in a storm,” of course, as the
saying is.’

‘ As for yourself, you are a Churchman at present, I
presume ? ’

‘Yes; not but I was a Methodist once — ay, for a
length of time. ’Twas owing to my taking a house
next door to a chapel; so that what with hearing the
organ bizz like a bee through the wall, and what with
finding it saved umbrellas on wet Zundays, I went over
to that faith for two years — though I believe I dropped
money by it — I wouldn’t be the man to say so if I
hadn’t. Howsomever, when I moved into this house I
turned back again to my old religion. Faith, I don’t
zee much difference : be you one, or be you t’other,
you’ve got to get your living.’

‘ The De Stancys, of course, have not much influence
here now, for tliat, or any other thing?’

4 *

GEORGE SOMERSET

‘ 0 no, no ; not any at aU. They be very low upon
ground, and always will Ije now, I suppose. It was
thoughted worthy of being recorded in history — youVe
read it, sir, no doubt ? ’

‘ Not a word.’

‘O, then, you shall. IVe got the history zomc-
where. ’Twas gay manners that did it. The only bit of
luck they have had of late years is Miss Power’s taking
to little Miss De Stancy, and making her her company-
keeper. I hope ’twill continue.’

That the two daughters of these antipodean families
should be such intimate friends was a situation which
pleased Somerset as much as it did the landlord. It
was an engaging instance of that liuman progress on
which he had expended many charming dreams- in the
years when poetry, theology, and the reorganization of
society had seemed nvittcrs of more importance to him
than a profession which should help him to a big house
and income, a fair Deiopeia, and a lovely progeny.
When he was alone he poured out a glass of wine, and
silently drank the healths of the two generous-minded
young women who, in this lonely district, had found
sweet communion a necessity of life, and by pure and
instinctive good sense had broken down a barrier which
men thrice their age and repute would probably have
felt it imperative to maintain. But perhaps this was
premature: the omnipotent Miss Power’s character —
practical or ideal, politic or impulsive — he as yet knew'
nothing of ; and giving over reasoning from insufficient
data he lapsed into mere conjecture.

A. LAODICEAK

V

The next morning Somerset was again at the castle.
He passed some interval on the walls before encounter-
ing Miss De Stancy, whom at last he observed going
towards a pony-carriage that waited near the door.

A smile gained strength upon her face at his approach,
and she was the first to speak. ‘ I am sorry Miss
Power lias not returned,* she said, and accounted for
that lady’s absence by her distress at the event of two
evenings earlier.

‘ But I have driven over to my father’s — Sir William
De Stancy’ s — house this morning,’ she went on. * And
on mentioning your name to him, I found he knew it
quite well. You will, will you not, forgive my ignorance
in having no better knowledge of the elder Mr. Somerset’s
works than a dim sense of his fame as a painter ? But
I was going to say that my father would much like to
include you in his personal acquaintance, and wishes me
to aslf iLyou will give him the pleasure of lunching with
him My cousin John, whom you once knew,

was a great fiivourite of his, and used to speak of you
sometimes. It will be so kind if you can come. My
father is an old man, out of society, and he wohld be
glad to hear the news of town,’

Somerset said he was glad to find himself among
, friends where he had only expected strangers; and

44

GEORGE SOMERSET

promised to come that day, if she would tell him the
way.

That she could easily do. The short way was across
that glade he saw there — then over the stile into the
wood, following the path till it came out upon the turn-
pike-road. He would then be almost close to the house.
The distance was about two miles and a half. But if he
thought it too far for a walk, she would drive on to the
town, where she had been going when he" came, and
instead of returning straight to her falher^s w’ould come
back and pick him up.

It was not at all necessary, he thought. He was a
walker, and could hnd the path.

At this moment a servant came to tell Miss De
Stancy that the telegraph was calling her.

* Ah — it is lucky tliat I was not gone again ! * she
exclaimed. ‘John seldom reads it right if I am
away.’

It now seemed quite in the ordinary course that, as a
friend of hei father’s, he should accompany her to the
, insti ument. So up they went together, and immediately
on reaching it she applied her ear to the instrument, and
began to gather the message. Somerset fancied himself
like a person overlooking another’s letter, and moved
aside.

‘ It is no secret/ she said, smiling. ‘ “ Paula to
Charlotte^^ it begins.’

* That’s very pretty.’ ^

‘O — and it is about — you,’ murmured Miss De
Stancy.

‘ Me ? ’ The architect blushed a little.

She made no answer, and the machinejvent on with
its story. There was something curious in watching this
utterance about^himself, under his very nose, in language
unintelligible to h!m. He conjectured whether it wfre
inquiry, praise, or blame, with a sense that it might
reasonably be the latter, as the result of his surr^titious
45

A LAODICEAN

look into that blue bedroom, possibly observed and
reported by some servant of the house.

* Direct that every facility be given to Mr, Somerset
to visit any part of the castle he may wish to see. On my
return I shall be glad to welcome him as the acquamtance
of your relatives. 1 have two of his father s pictures,** *

‘ Dear me, the plot thickens,’ he said, as Miss De
Stancy announced the words. ‘ How could she know
about me ? ’

‘ I sent a message to her this morning when I saw
you crossing the park on your way here — telling her
that Mr. Somerset, son of ^he Ac aclcniician, was making
sketches of the castle, and that my father knew some-
thing of you. That’s her answer.’

‘ Where are the pictures by my father that she lias
purchased ? ’

‘ O, not here — at least, not unpacked.’

Miss de Stancy then left him to proceed on her
journey to Markton (so the nearest little town was
called), informing him that she would be^jat her father’s
house to receive him at two o’clock.

Just about one he closed his sketch-book, and set
out in the direction she had indicated. At the entrance
to the wood a man was at work pulling down a rotten
gate that bore on its battered lock the initials ‘ W. De S.’
and erecting a new one whose ironmongerv exhibited
the letters ‘ P. P.’

The wmnlh of the summer noon did not inconveni-
ently penCTrate the dense masses of foliage which now
began to overhang the path, except in spots where a
ruthlesss «timber-fellii?g had taken place in previous
years for the purpose of sale. It was that particular
half-hour of the day in w^hich the birds of the forest
prefer walking to flying ; and there being no wind, the
hcjjpping of the smallest songster over the dead leaves
reachecl his ear from behind the undergrowth. The
track had originally been a well-kept winding driv^i, but

46

GEORGE SOMERSET

a deep carpet of moss and leaves overlaid it now, though
the general outline still remained to show that its curves*
had been set out with as much care as those of a lawn
walk, and the gradient made easy for carriages where
the natural slopes w(Te great. Felled trunks Occasion-
ally lay across it, and alongside ^ere the hollow and
fungous boles of trees sawn down in long past years.

After a A\alk of three-ciuarters of an hour he came to
another gate, where tlie letters ‘ P. P.’ again supplanted
the historical ‘ W. Dc S.’ Climbing over this, he found
himself on a highway which presently dipped down
towards the town of Mark ton, a place he had never yet
seen. It aj>peared in the distance as a quiet little
borough of a few thousand inhabitants; and, without
the town boundary on the side he was approaching,
stood half-a-dozen genteel and modern houses, of the
detached kind usually found in such suburbs. On
inquiry, Sir William J)c Stancy^s residence was indicated
as one of these.

It was almost new, of streaked brick, having a central
door, and a small bay window on each side to light the
two front parlours. A little lawn spread its green sur-
face in front, divided from the r,oad by iron railings, the
low line of shrubs immediately within them being coated
with pallid dust from the highway. On the neat piers
of the neat entrance gate were chiselled the words
‘ Myrtle Villa.’ Genuine roadside respectability sat
smiling on every brick of the eligible dwelliru^

Perhaps that which impressed Somersetmore than
the mushroom modernism of Sir William De Stancy’s
house was the air of healthful ^^eerfulness \irhich per-
vaded it. He was shown in by a neat maidservant in
black gown and white apron, a canary singing a welcome
from a cage in the shadow of the window, the voices of
crowing cocks coming over the chimneys from so^-
where behind, and the sun and air riddling the house
everywhere.

47

A LAODICEAN

A dwelling of those well-known and popular dimen-
sions which allow the proceedings in the Idtchen to be
distinctly heard in -the parlours, it was so planned that
a raking view might be obtained through it from the front
door to the end of the back garden. The drawjpg-room
furniture was comfortable, in the walnut-and-green-rep
style of some years ago. Somerset had expected to find
his friends living in an old house with remnants of their
own antique furniture, and he hardly knew whether he
ought to meet them with a smile or a gaze of con-
dolence. His doubt was terminated, however, by the
cheerful and tripping entry of Miss De Stancy, who
had returned from her drive to Markton ; and in a few
more moments Sir William came in from the garden.

He was an old man of tall and spare build, with a
considerable stoop, his glasses dangling against his
waistcoat-buttons, and the front corners of his coat-tails
hanging lower than the hinderparts, so that they swayed
right and left as he walked. He nervously apologized
to his visitor for having kept him waiting.

‘I am so glad to see you,' he said, with a mild
benevolence of tone, as he retained Somerset's hand
for a moment or two ; ' partly for your father's sake,
whom I met more than once in my younger days, before
K? became so well-known ; and also because I fearn that
you were a frieqd of my poor nephew John Ra/ensbury.’
He looked over his shoulder to see if his daughter were
within hej||ing; and, with the impulse of the solitary
to make a confidence, continued in a low tone : ‘ She,
poor girl, was to have married John : his death was a
sad blow to her and# to all of us. — Pray take a seat,
Mr. Somerset.’

The reverses of fortune which had brought Sir William
De Stancy to this comfortable cottage awakened iW
Somerset a warmer emotion than curiosity, and he sat
down with a heart as responsive to each speech uttered
as if it had seriously concerned himself, while his host
48

GEORGE SOMERSE'^*

gave some words of information to his daughter on tlw*
trifling events that had marked the morning just passed ;
such as that the cow had got out of the paddock into
Miss Power’s field, that the smith who had promised
to come and look at the kitchen range had not arrived,
that two wasps’ nests had been discovered in the garden
bank, and that Nick Jones’s baby had fallen down-
stairs. Sir William had large cavernous arches to his
eye-sockets, reminding the beholder of the vaults in the
castle he once had owned iJis hands were long and
almost fleshless, each knuckle showing like a bamboo
joint from beneath his coat-sleeves, which were small
at the elbow and large at the wrist. All the colour
had gone from his b^d and locks, except in the case
of a few isolated hairs of the former, which' retained
dashes of their original shade at sudden points in their
length, revealing that all had once been raven black.

But to study a man to his face for long is a species
of ill-nature which requires a colder temperament, or at
least an older heart, than the architect’s was at that
time. Incurious unobservance is the true attitude of
cordiality, and Somerset blamed himself for having fallen
into an act of inspection even briefly. He would wait
for his post’s conversation, which would doubtless Jj|p
► of the essence of historical romance.

* The favourable Bank-returns have made the money-
market much easier to-day, as I learn ? ’ said Sir William.

‘O, have they?’ said Somerset. ‘Yes, I suppose
they have.’

‘ And something is meant by this unusual quietness
in Foreign stocks since the late remarkable fluctuations,’
insisted the old man. ‘Is the current of speculation
l^ite arrested, or is it but a tei^orary lull ? ’

Somerset said he was afraid he could not give an
opinion, and entered very lamely into the subject ; but
Sir William seemed to find sufficient interest in his own
thoughts to do away with the necessity of acquiring
49 D

A LAODICEAN

fresh impressions from other people^s replies ; for often
after putting a question he looked on the floor, as if
the subject were at an end. Lunch was now ready,
and when they were in the dining-room Miss De Stancy,
to introduce a topic of more generifl interest, asked
Somerset if he had noticed the m5rrtle on the lawn ?

Somerset had noticed it, and thought he had never
seen such a full-blown one in the open air before. His
eyes were, however, resting at the moment on the only
objects at all out of the common that the dining-room
contained. One was a singular glass c.ase over the fire-
place, within which were some large mediaeval door-keys,
black with rust and age ; and the others were two full-
length oil portraits in the costume of the end of the last
century — so out of all proportion to the size of the room
they occupied that they almost reached to the floor.

* Those originally belonged to the castle yonder,' said
Miss De Stancy, or Charlotte, as her father called her,
noticing Somerset's glance at the keys. * They used to
unlock the pi incipal entrance doors, which were knocked
to pieces in the civil wars. New doors were placed
afterwards, but the old keys were never given up, and
have been preserved by us ever since.'

‘They are quite useless — rneie lumber — particularly
to me,' said Sir William.

‘And those huge paintings were a present from
Paula,' she continued. ‘They are portraits of iii> great-
grandfather and mother. Paula would give all the old
family pictures bark to me it we had room for them ;
but they would fill the house to the ceilings.'

Sir William was impatient of the subject. ‘ What is
the utility of such accumulations ? ' he asked. ‘ Their
originals are but clay now — mere forgotten dust, not
worthy a moment's inquiry or reflection at this distance
of time. Nothing can retain the spirit, and why should
we preserve the shadow of the form ? — I /ondon has been
very full this year, sir, I have been told ? '

50

GEORGE SOMERSET

‘It has,* ssad Somerset, and he asked if they had
been up that season. It was plain that the matter with
which Sir William De Stancy least cared to occupy him-
self before visitors was the history of his own family,
in which he was followed with more simplicity by his
daughter Charlotte.

* No,* said the baronet. ‘ One might be led to think «
there is a fatality which prevents it. We make arrange-
ments to go to town almost every year, to meet some
old friend who combines the rare conditions of being in
. London with being mindful of me ; but he has always
died or gone elsewhere before the event has taken place.

. . . But with a disposition to be happy, it is neither
this place nor the other that can render us the reverse.
In short each man’s happiness depends upon himself^
and his ability for doing with little.* He turned more
particularly to Somerset, and added with an impressive
smile: ‘I hope you cultivate the art of doing with
little?*

Somerset said that he certainly did cultivate that art,
partly because he was obliged to.

‘Ah — ^you don’t mean to the extent that I mean.
The world has not yet learned the riches of frugality,
says, I think, Cicero, somewhere; and nobody can
testify to the truth of that remark better than I. If
a man knows how to spend less than his income,
however small that may be, why — he has the philoso-
pher’s stone.’ And Sir William looked in Somerset’s
face with frugality wiitlen in every pore of his own,
as much as to say, ‘And here you see one who has
been a living instance of those principles from his
youth up.’

Somerset soon found that whatever turn the con-
versation took. Sir William invariably reverted to this
topic of frugality. When luncheon was over he asked
his visitor to walk with him into the garden, and no
sooner were they alone than he continued : ‘ Well, Mr.

51

A LAODICEAN

Somerset, you are down here sketching architecture for
professional purposes. Nothing can be better : you are
a young man, and your art is one in which there are
innumerable chances.*

‘I had begun to think they were rather few,* said
Somerset.

‘ No, they are numerous enough : the difficulty is to
find ouf where they lie. It is better to know where
your luck lies than where your talent lies : that’s an old
man’s opinion.* 4

* I’ll remember it,* said Somerset.

* And now give me some account of your new clubs,
new hotels, and new men. . . . What I was going to
add, on the subject of finding out where your luck lies,
is that nobody is so unfortunate as not to have a lucky
star in some direction or other. Perhaps yours is at
the antipodes ; if so, go there. AIJ I say is, discover
your lucky star.*

‘ I am looking for it.*

‘ You may be able to do two things ; one well, the
other but indifferently, and yet you may have more luck
in the latter. Then stick to that one, and never mind
what you can do best. Your star lies there.*

‘ There I am not quite at one with you. Sir William.*

‘ You should be. Not that I mean to say that luck
lies in any one place long, or at any one person’s door.
Fortune likes new faces, and your wisdom lies in bringing
your acquisitions into safety while her favour lasts. To
do that you must make friends in her time of smiles —
make friends with people, wherever you find them. My
daughter has unconsciously followed that maxim. She
has struck up a warm friendship with our neighbour. Miss
Power, at the castle. We are diametrically different
from her in associations, traditions, ideas, religion — she
comes of a violent dissenting family among other things —
but I say to Charlotte what I say to you : win affection
and regard wherever you can, and accommodate your-

GEORGE SOMERSET

1/

self to the times. I put nothing in the way of thdt
intimacy, and wisely so, for by this so many pleasant
hours are added to the sum total vouchsafed to
humanity.*

It vras quite late in the afternoon when Somerset
took his leave. Miss De Stancy did not return to the
castle that night, and he walked through the wood as
he had come, feeling that he had been talking with a
man of simple njiure, who flattered his own under-
standing by devising Machiavellian theories after the
event, to account for any spontaneous action of himself
or his daughtei, which might otherwise seem eccentric
or irregular.

Before Somerset reached the inn he was overtaken
by a slight shower, and on entering the house he walked
into the general room, where there was a fire, and stood
with one foot on the fender. 'J'hc landlord was talking
to some guest who sat behind a screen ; and, probably
because Somerset had been seen passing the window,
and was known to be sketc hing at the castle, the conver-
sation turned on Sir William De Stancy.

‘ I have often noticed,* observed the landlord, * that
volks who have come to grief, and quite failed, have the
rules how to succeed in life more at their vingers* ends
than volks who have succeeded. I assure you that Sir
William, so full as he is of wise maxims, never acted
upon a wise maxim in his life, until he had lost every-
thing, and it didn’t matter whether he was wise or no.
You know what he w^as in his young days, of course ? *

‘ No, I don’t,* said the invisible stiaiiger.

‘O, I thought everybody knew poor Sir William’s
history. He was the star, as I may zay, of good com-
pany forty years ago. I remember him in the height
of his jinks, as I used to zee him when I was a very
little boy, and think how great and woitderful he was.
I can seem to zee now the exact style of his clothes ;
white hat, white trousers, white silk handkerchief; and
53

A LAODICEAN

his jonnick face, as white as his clothes with keeping
late hours. There was nothing black about him but
his hair and his eyes — he wore no beard at that time —
and they were black as slooes. The like of his coming
on the race-course was never seen there afore nor since.
He drove his ikkipage hisself; and it was always
hauled by four beautiful white horses, and two outriders
rode in harness bridles. There was a groom behind
him, and another at the rubbing-post, all in livery as
glorious as New Jerusalem. What a Establishment he
kept up at that time ! I can mind him, sir, with thirty
race-horses in training at once, seventeen coach-horses,
twelve hunters at his box t’other side of London, four
chargers at Budmouth, and ever so many hacks.’

‘And he lost all by his racing speculations?’ the
stranger observed ; and Somerset fancied that the voice
had in it something more than the languid carelessness
of a casual sojourner.

‘ Partly by that, partly in other ways. He spent a
mint o’ money in a wild project of founding a watering-
place j and sunk thousands in a useless silver mine ; so
’twas no wonder that the castle named after him veil
into other hands. , . . The way it was done was curious.
Mr. Wilkins, who was the first owner after it went from
Sir William, actually sat down as a guest at his table,
and got up as the owner.' He took off, at a lound sum,
everything saleable, furniture, plate, pictures, even the
milk and butter in the dairy. * That’s how the pictures
and furniture come to be in the castle still ; wormeaten
rubbish zome o’ it, and hardly worth moving.’

* And off went the bironet to Myrtle Villa ? ’

‘ O no ! he went away for many years. ’Tis quite
lately, since his illness, that he came to that little place,
in zight of the stone walls that were the pride of his
forefathers.’

‘ From what I hear, he has not the manner of a
broken-hearted man ? ’

54

GEORGE SOMERSET

< Not at all. Since that illness he has been happy,
as you see him : no pride, quite calm and mild ; at new
moon quite childish. 'Tis that makes him able to live
there ; before he was so ill he couldn’t bear a zight of
the place, but since then he is happy nowhere else, and
never leaves the parish further than to drive once a week
to Markton. His head won’t stand society nowadays,
and he lives quite lonely as you zee, only zeeing %is
daughter, or his son whenever he comes home, which is
not often. They say that if his brain hadn’t softened a
little he would ha’ died — 'twas that saved his life.’

‘What’s this I hear about his daughter? Is she
ref Jly hired companion to the new owner ? ’

‘Now that’s a curious thing again, these two girls
being so fond of one another ; one of ’em a dissenter,
and all that, and t’other a De Stancy. O no, not hired
exactly, but she mostly lives with Miss Power, and goes
about with her, and I dare say Miss Power makes it
wo’tli her wliile. One can’t move a step without the
other following ; though judging by ordinary volks you’d
think ’twould be a cat-and-dog friendship rather,’

‘ But ’tis not ? ’

‘’Tis not; they be more like lovers than maid and
maid. Miss Power is looked up to by little De Stancy
as if she were a god-a’mighty, and Miss Power lets her
love her to her heart’s content. But whethei; Miss
Power loves back again I can’t zay, for she’s as deep as
thd North Star.’

The landlord here left the stranger to go to oome
other part of the house, and Somerset drew near to the*
glass partition to gain a glimplb of a man whose interest
in the neighbourhood seemed to have arisen so simul-
taneously with his own. But the inner room was
empty: the man had apparently departed by another
door.

A LAODICEAN

VI

The telegraph had almost the attributes of a human
being at Stancy Castle. When its bell rang people
rushed to the old tapestried chamber allotted to it, and
waited its pleasure with all the deference due to such a
novel inhabitant of that ancestral pile. This happened
on the following afternoon about four oVlock, while
Somerset was sketching in the room adjoining that
occupied by the instrument. Hearing its call, he looked
in to learn if anybody were attending, and found Miss
De Stancy bending over it.

She welcomed him without the least embarrassment.
‘ Another message,’ she said. — ‘ “ Paula to Cluirlotte , —
Have returned to Markton, Am starting for hom*> Will
be at the gate between four and five if possible,^' ’

Miss De Stancy blushed with pleasure when she
raised her eyes from the machinev ‘ Is she not thought-
ful to let me know beforehand ? ’

Somerset said she certainly appeared to be, feeling at
the same time that he was not in possession of sufficient
data to make the opinion of great value.

‘ Now I must get everything ready, and order what
she will want, as Mrs. Goodman is away. What will
she want ? Dinner would be best — she has had no lunch,
I know ; or tea pdWiaps, and dinner at the usual time.
Still, if she has had no lunch — Hark, what do I hear ? ’

56

GEORGE SOMERSET

She ran to an arrow-slit, and Somerset, who had also
heaxd something, looked out of an adjoining one. They
j^omd see from their elevated position a gre^ way along
the white road, stretching like a tape amid the green
expanses on each side. There had arisen a doud of
dust, accompanied by a noise of wheels.

‘ It is she,' said Charlotte. * 0 yes — it is past four
— the telegram has been delayed.*

* How would she be likely to come ? *

‘ She has doubtless hired a carraige at the inn ; she
said it would be useless to send to meet her, as she
couldn’t name a time. . . . Where is she now ? *

‘Just where the boughs of those beeches overhang
the road — there she is again ! *

Miss De Stancy went a^vay to give directions, and
Somerset continued to watch. Ihe vehicle, which was
of no great pretension, soon crossed the bridge and
stopped : there was a ring at the bell ; and Miss De
Stancy reappeared.

‘ Did >ou see her as she drove up — is she not inter-
esting ? '

‘ 1 could not see her.*

‘ Ah, no — of course you could not from this window
because of the trees. Mr. Somerset, will you come
downstairs ? You will have to meet her, you know.*

Somerset felt an indescril)able backwardness. ‘I
will go on with my sketching,* he said. ‘.Perhaps she
will not be *

‘O, but it would be quite natural, would it net?
Our manners are easier here, you know, than they
are in town, and Miss Power has adapted herself to
them.*

A compromise was effected by Somerset declaring
that he would hold himself in readiness to be discovered
on the landing at any convenient time.

A servant entered. ‘Miss Power?* said Miss De
Stancy, before he could speak.

57

A LAODICEAN

The man advanced with a card : Miss Dc Stancy
took it up, and read thereon : ‘ Mr. William Dare.’

‘ It is ^ot Miss Power who has come, then ? ’ she
asked, with a disappointed face.

‘ No, ma’am.*

She looked again at the card. ‘ This is some man
of business, I suppose — does he want to see me ? ’

‘ Yes, miss. Leastwise, he would be glad to see you
if Miss Power is not at home.’

Miss De Stancy left the room, and soon returned,
saying, ‘ Mr. Somerset, can you give me your counsel
in this matter ? This Mr. Dare says he is a photographic
amateur, and it seems that he wrote some time ago to
Miss Power, who gave him permission to take views of
tlfe castle, and promised to show him the best points.
But I have heard nothing of it, and scarcely know
whethdP I ought to take his word in her absence. Mrs.
Goodman, Miss Power’s relative, who usually attends to
these things, is away.’

‘ I dare say it is all right,’ said Somerset.

‘Would you mind seeing him? If you think it
quite in order, perhaps you will instruct him where the
best views are to be obtained ? ’

Thereupon Somerset at once went down to Mr. Dare.
His coming as a sort of counterfeit of Miss Power dis-
posed Somerset to judge him with as much severity as
justice would allow, and his manner for the moment was
not of a kind calculated to dissipate antagonistic instincts.
Mr. Dare was standing before the fireplace with his feet
wide apart, and his hands in the pockets of his coat-
tails, looking at a carving over the mantelpiece. He
turned quickly at the sound of Somerset’s footsteps,
and revealed himself as a person quite out of the
common.

His age it was impossible to say. There was not a
hair on his face which could serve to hang a guess
upon, in repose he appeared a boy ; but his actions
S8

GEORGE SOMERSET

were so completely those of a man that the beholder’s
first estimate of sixteen as his age was hastily corrected to
six-and-twenty, and afterwards shifted hithe^nd thither
along intervening years as ’'the tenor of ms sentences
sent him up or down. He had a broad forehead,
vertical as the face of a bastion, and his hair, which was
parted in the middle, hung as a fringe or valance above,
in the fashion sometimes affected by the other sex. He
wore a heavy ring, of which the gold seemed fair, the*
diamond questionable, and the taste indifferent. There
were the remains of a swagger in his body and limbs as
he came forward, regarding Somerset with a confident
smile, as if the wonder were, not why Mr. Dare should
be present, but why Somerset should be present likewise ;
and the first tone that came fiom Dare’s lips wound %p
his listener’s opinion that he did not like him.

A latent power in the man, or boy, was reveled by
the circumstance that Somerset did not feel, as he would
ordinarily have done, that it was a matter of profound
indifference to him whether this gentlejnan-photographer
were a likeable person or no.

‘ I have called by appointment ; or rather, T left a
card stating that to-day would suit me, and no objection
was made.’ Somerset recognized the voice; it was
that of the invisible stranger who had talked with the
landlord about the De Stancys. Mr. Dare then pro-
ceeded to explain his business.

Somerset found from his inquiries that the man had
unquestionably been instructed by somebody to take
the views he spoke of; and concluded that Dare’s
curiosity at the inn was, after all, naturally explained
by his errand to this place. Blaming himself for a too
hasty condemnation of the stranger, who though visHj^ly
a little too assured was civil enough verbally, Somerset
proceeded with the young photographer to sundry
comers of the outer ward, and thence across the moat
to the field, suggesting advantageous points of view..

59

A LAODICEAN

The office, being a shadow of his own pursuits, was not
uncongenial to Somerset, and he forgot other things in
attending t^ it.

‘ Now iti o^r country we should stand further back
than this, and so iget a more comprehensive coup d^ocil^
said Dare, as Somerset selected a good situation,

‘ You are not an Englishman, then,* said Somerset.

‘ I have lived mostly in India, Malta, Oibraltar, the
Ionian Islands, and Canada. I there invented a new
photographic process, which I am bent upon making
famous. Yet I am but a dilettante, and do not follow
this art at the base dictation of what men call necessity.*

‘ O indeed,* Somerset replied.

As soon as this business was disposed of, and Mr,
Dare had brought up his van and assistant to begin
operations, Somerset returned to the castle entrance.
While under Ihe archway a man with a professional
look drove up in a dog-cart and inquired if Miss Power
were at home to-day.

‘ She has not yet returned, Mr. Havill,* was the reply.

Somerset, who had hoped to hear an affirmative by
this.rtime, thought that Miss Power was bent on dis-
appointing him in the flesh, notwithstanding the interest
she expressed in him by telegraph; and as it was now
drawing towards the end of the afternoon, he w‘>lked off
in the direction of his inn.

There were two or three ways to that spot, but the
pleasantest was by passing through a rambling shrubbery,
between whose bushes trickled a broad shallow brook,
occasionally intercepted in its course by a transverse
chain of old stones, evidently from the castle walls,
which formed a miniature waterfall. The walk lay
along the river-brink. Soon Somerset saw before him
a circular summer-house formed of short sticks nailed
to ornamental patterns. Outside the structure, and
immediately in the path, stood a man with a book in
his hand ; and it was presently apparent that this gentle*
6o

GEORGE SOMERSET

man was holding a conversation with some person
inside the pa^lion, but the back of the building being
towards Somerset, the second individual could not be
seen

The speaker at one moment glanced into the interior,
and at another at the advancing form of the architect,
whom, though distinctly enough beheld, the other
scarcely app|||p:ed to heed in the absorbing interest of
his own discourse. Somerset became aware that it was
the Baptist minister, whose rhetoric he had heard in
the chapel yonder. * 4

‘Now,’ continued the Baptist minister, ‘will you
express to me any reason or objection whatever which
induces you to \^ithdraw from our communion? It
was tliat of your father, and of his father before him.
Any difficulty you may have met with I will honestly
try to remove ; for I need hardly say tha^in losing you
we lose one of the most valued members W the Baptist
church in this district. I sp(‘ak with all the respect
due to your position, when I ask you to realize how
irrepaiable is the injury you inflict upon the cause here
by this lukewarm backwardness.’ .

* I don’t withdraw,’ said a woman’s low voice witnin.

‘ What do you do ? ’ •

‘ I decline to attend for the present.’

‘And you can give no reason for this ? ’

T here was no reply. ^

‘ Or for your retusal to proceed with the baptism ? ’

‘ I have been christened.’

‘My dear young lady, it is well known that your
christening was the work of your aunt, who did it un-
known to your parents when she had you in her power,
out of pure obstinacy to a church with which she was
not in sympathy, taking you surreptitiously, and inde-
fensibly, to the fontwof the Establishment; so that the
rite meant and could mean nothing at il. . , . But
I fear that your new position has brought you into coi^
61

A LAODICEAN

tact with the Paedobaptists, that they have disturbed
your old principles, and so induced you to believe in
the validity of that trumpery ceremony 1 '

* It seems sufficient.*

‘ I will demolish the basis of that seeming in three
minutes, give me but that time as a listener.’

1 have no objection.’

‘ Very well. . . . First, then, I will assume that those
who have influenced you in the matter have not beeh
able to make any impression upon one so well grounded
as yourself in our distinctive doctrine, by the stale old
• argument drawn from circumcision ? ’

‘ You may assume it.’

* Good — that clears the ground. And we now come
to the New Testament.’

The minister began to turn over the leaves of his
little Bible, which it impressed Somerset to observe was
bound with a flap, like a pocket book, the black surface
of the leather being >Aorn l)ro^^n at the corners by long
usage. He turned on till he came to the beginning
of the New Testament, and then cv)nimenccd his dis-
course. After explaining his jwsition, the old man ran
very ably tiiiougli the arguments, citing well-known
writers on the point in dispute when he required moiW
finished sentences than his own.

The minister’s earnestness and interest in his owiih
case led him unconsciously to im lude Somerset in his
audience as the young man drew nearer; till, instead
of fixing his eyes exclusively on the person within the
summer-house, the preacher began to direct a good pro-
portion of his discourse upon his new auditor, turning
from one listener to the other attentively, without seeming
to feel Somerset’s presence as superfluous.

‘ And now,’ he said in conclusipn, ‘ I put it to you,
sir, as to her : do you find any %w in my argument ?
Is there, madam, a single text which, honestly inter-
preted, affords the least foothold for the Paedobaptists ;

62

GEORGE -WOMERSET

in other words, for yonr opinion on the efficacy of the
rite administered to you in your unconscious infancy?
I put it to you both as honest and responsible beings/
He turned again to the yoilhg man.

It happened that Somerset had been over this
ground long ago. Born, so to speak, a High-Church
infant, in his youth he had liecn of a thoughtful turn,
till at one time an idea of his entering the Church had
been entertained by his parents. He had formed ac-
quaintance with men of almost b\ery vaiiety of doctrinal
practice in this country ; and, as the pleadings of each
assailed him before he had ainved at an age of sufficient
mental stability to lesist nev mi])ressions, however badly
substantiated, he ini lined to eich denomination as it
presented itself, was

‘ r\ci} thing by starts, and nothing long,*

till li(* h,id travelled thiough a great many beliefs and
doctrines ^^ithout feeling himself much better than when
he set out

A study of fonts and their oriyn had qualified him
ill this jicirticular subject. Fully ronscious of the in-
expecliencv of contests on minor ritual difTcrences, he
yet felt a sudden impulse towards a mild intellectual
tournament with the eager old man — purely as an
exercise of his wits in the defence of a fair cfirl.

‘Sir, I accept yonr challenge to us,* said Somerset,
advancing to the nnmster*s side.

A LAODICEAN

VII

At the sound of a new voice the lady in the bower
started, as he could see by her outhne through the
crevices of the wood-work and creepers. The minister
looked surprised.

‘You will lend me your Bible, s^^^to assist my
memory ? * he continued.

The minister held out the Bible with some reluc-
tance, but he allowed Somerset to take it from his hand.
The latter, stepping upon a large moss-covered stone
which stood near, and laying his hat on a flat Beech
bough that rose and fell behind him, pointed to the
minister to scat himself on the grass. The minister
looked at the grass, and looked up again at Somerset,
but did not move.

Somerset for the moment was not observing him.
His new position had turned out to be exactly opposite
the open side of the bower, and now for the first time
he beheld the interior. On the seat was the woman
who had stood beneath his eyes in the chapel, the
‘ Paula ' of Miss De Stancy's enthusiastic eulogies. She
wore a summer hat, beneath which her fair curly hair
formed a thicket round her forehead. It would be
impossible to describe her as she then appeared. Not
sensuous enough for an Aphrodite, and too subdued
for a Hebe, she would yet, with the adjunct of doves
64

GEORGE ^SOMERSET

or nectar, have stood sufficiently well for either of those
personages, if presented in a pink morning light, and
with mythological scarcity of attire.

Half in surprise she glanced up at him ; and lowering
her eyes again, as if no surprise vere ever let influence
her actions for more than a moment, she sat on as
before, looking past Somerset's position at the view
down the river, visible for a long distance before her till
it was lost under the bending trees.

Somerset turned over tlic leaves of the minister's
Bible, and began : —

‘ In the First Epistle to the Corinthians, the seventh
chapter and the fourteenth verse '

Here the young lady raised her eyes in spite of her
reserve, but it being, apparently, too much labour to
keep them raised, allowed her glance t6 subside upon
her jet necklace, e\tendmg it with Ae thumb of her
left hand.

‘ Sir ! ' said the Baptist excitedly, ‘ I know that pas-
sage well — it is the last refuge of the Psedobaptists— I
foresee your argument. I have met it dozens of times,
and it is not worth that snap of ehe fingers I It is worth
no more than the argument from circumcision, or the
Suffcr-little-chikiren argument.'

‘ Then turn to the sixteenth chapter of the Acts, and
the thirty-third '

‘ That, too,* cried the minister, ‘ is answered by what
I said before ! I perceive, sir, that you adopt the
method of a special pleader, and not that of an honest
inquirer. Is it, or is it not, an answer to my proofs
from the eighth chapter of the Acts, the thirty-sixth and
thirty-seventh verses; the sixteenth of Mark, sixteenth
verse; second of Acts, forty-first verse; the tenth and
the forty-seventh verse; or the eighteenth and eighth
verse ? '

‘ Very well, then. Let me prove the point by other
reasoning — hy the argument from Apostolic tradition.’

65 s

A LAODICEAN

He threw the minister’s book upon the grass, and prOi
ceeded vith his contention, which comprised a fairly
good exposition of the earliest practice of the Church,
and inferences therefrom. (When he reached this point
an interest in his off-hand arguments was revealed by
the mobile bosom of Miss Paula Power, ^ough she
still occupied herself by drawing out the necklace.)
Testimony from Justin Martyr followed; with infer-
ences from Irenaeus in the expression, ‘Omnes enim
venit per seinetipsum salvare; omnes inquam, qui per
eum rcnascuntur in Deum, infantes et parvulos et
pucros et juvenes.’ (At the sound of so much serious-
ness Paula turned her eyes upon tlie speaker with atten-
tion.) He next adduced proof of the signification ol
‘ renascor ’ in the writings of the Fathers, as reasoned
by Wall; arguments from Tertullian’s advice to defer
the rite; citations from Cyprian, Nazianzen, Chrysos-
tom, and Jerome; and briefly summed up the whole
matter.

Somerset looked round for the minister as he con-
cluded. But the old man, after standing face to face
with the speaker, had turned his back upon him, and
during the latter portions of the attack had moved
slowly away. He now looked back ; his countenance
was full of commiserating reproach as he lilted his
hand, twice shook his head, and said, ‘ In the Ep'sde to
the Philippians, first chapter and sixteenth verse, it is
WTitten that there arc some who preach in contention^!
and not sincerely. And in the Second Epistle Vtr
Timothy, fourth chapter and fourth verse, attention is
drawn to those whose ears refuse the truth, and are
turned unto fables. I wish you good afternoon, sir, and
that priceless gift, sincerity^

The minister vanished behind the trees; Somerset
and Miss Power being left confronting each other
alone.

Somerset stepped aside from the stone, hat in hand,

66

GEORGE SOMERSET

at the same moment in which Miss Power rose from
her seat. She hesitated for an instant, and said, with
a pretty girlish stiffness, sweeping back the skirt of her
dress to free her toes in turning: ‘Although you are
personally unJinown to me, I cannot leave you without
expressing my deep sense of your profound scholarship,
and my admiration for the thoroughness of your studies
in divinity.’

‘ Your opinion gives me grt'at pleasure,’ said Somer-
set, bowing, and fairly blushing. ‘ But, believe me, I
am no scholar, and no theologian. My knowledge of
the subject arise'* simply fumi the accident that some
few years ago I looked into the question for a special
reason. In the study of my jlrofession I was interested
in the designing of fonts and baptisteries, and’ by a
natural process ] was led to inv^'stigatc the history of
baptism; and some of the arguments I then learnt up
stiU remain with me. 'That’s the simple explanation of
my erudition.’

‘If your sermons at the church only match your
address to-day, I shall not wondv^r at hearing that the
parishioners are at last willing to attend.’ .

It flashed upon Somerset’s mind that she sup-
posed him to be the new curate, of whose arrival
he had casually heard, during his sojourn at the
iim. Before he could bring himself to correct
aifecfcrror to w^hich, perhaps, more than to anything
elfe, was owing the friendliness of her manner, she
went on, as if to escape the embarrassment of
silence : —

‘ I need hardly say that I at least do not doubt the
sincerity of your arguments.’

‘ Nevertheless, I was not altogether sincere,’ he
answered.

She was silent.

‘ Then why should you have delivered such a defence
of me ? ’ she asked with simple curiosity.

67

A LAODICEAN

Somerset involuntarily looked in her face for his
answer.

Paula again teased the necklace. * Would you have
spoken so eloquently on the other side if I — if occasion
had served ? * she inquired shyly.

* Perhaps I would.’

Another pause, till she said, ‘ I, too, was insincere.’

‘You?’

‘ I was.’

‘ In what way ? *

‘ In letting him, and you, think I had been at all
influenced by authority, sciiptural or patristic.’

‘ May I ask, why, then, did you decline the ceremony
the other evening ? ’

‘ Ah, you, too, have heard of it ! ’ she said quic-kly.

‘No.’

‘ What then ? ’

‘ I saw it.’

She blushed and looked down the river. ‘ I cannot
give my reasons,’ she said.

‘ Of course not,’ said Somerset.

‘I would give a great deal to possess real logical
dogmatism.’

‘ So would I.’

There was a moment of embarrassment ; she wanted
to get away, but did not precisely knov' how. He
would have withdrawn had she not said, as if rather
oppressed by her conscience, and evidently still tliink-
ing him the curate ; ‘ I cannot but feel that Mr. Wood-
well’s heart has been unnecessarily wounded.’

* The minister’s ? *

‘Yes. He is single-mindedness itself. He gives
away nearly all he has to the poor. He works among
the sick, cariying them necessaries with his own hands.
He teaches the ignorant men and lads of the village
when he ought to be resting at home, till he is absolutely
prostrate from exhaustion, and then he sits up at night
68

GEORGE SOMERSET

writing encouraging letters to those poor people who
formerly belonged to his congregation in the village, and
have now gone away. He always offends ladies, be-
cause he can’t help speaking the truth as he believes it ;
but he hasn’t offended me ! ’

Her feelings had risen towards the end, so that she
finished quite warmly, and turned aside.

‘I was not in the least aware that he was such a
man,’ murmured Somerset, looking wistfully after the
minister. . , ‘ Whatever you may have done, I fear that

I have grievously wounded a worthy man’s heart fiom an
idle wish to engage in a useless, unbecoming, dull, last-
centmy argument.’

‘ Not dull,’ she murmured^* for it interested me.’

Somerset aa epted her correction willingly. ‘ It was
ill-consideied of me, hovrevei,’ he said, ‘and in his
distress he has forgotten liis Bible.’ He went and
picked up the worn volume from where it lay on the
grass.

‘You can easily win him to forgive you, by just
following, and returning the book lo him,’ she observed.

‘ I will,’ said the young man impulsively. And,
bowing to her, he hastened along the river brink after
the minister. He at length saw^ his friend before him,
leaning over the gate which led from the private path
into a lane, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand
with every outward sign of abstraction. He was not
conscious of Somerset’s presence till the latter touched
him on the shoulder.

Never was a reconciliation effected more readily.
When Somerset said that, fearing his motives might be
misconstrued, he had followed to assure the minister of
his goodwill and esteem, Mr. Woodwell held out his
hand, and proved his friendliness in return by preparing
to have the controversy on their religious differences
over again from the beginning, with exhaustive detail.
Somerset evaded this with alacrity, and once having

A LAODICEAN

won his companion to other subjects, he found that the
austere man had a smile as pleasant as an infant’s on
the rare moments when he indulged in it; moreover,
that he was warmly attached to Miss Power.

‘Though she gives m(‘ more trouljlc than all the rest
of the Baptist ( hurch in this district,’ he said, * I love
her as my own daughter. But 1 am sadly exercised to
know what she is at heart. Heaven supi)ly me with
fortitude to contest her wild opinions, and intractability 1
But she has sweet virtues, and her conduct at times can
Ixj most endearing.’

‘ 1 helnwe it ! ’ said Somerset, with more fervour than
mere pf>liteness re(iuired.

‘Sometimes I think tj|osc Sta»n'y towers and kinds
will 1x5 a curse to her. The spirit of old papistical
times still lingers in the nooks of those silent walls, like
a I>ad odour in a still atmosphere, dulling the iconoclastic
emotions of the true Puritan. It would be a pity indeed
if slie were to Ix’ tainted by the very situation that her
father’s indomitable energy created for her,’

‘ Do not be conn rned about her,’ said Somerset
g(’ntly. ‘Sire’s not a Ikedobaptist at heart, altliough
she seems so.'

Mr. Woodwcll j)lacevl his finger on Somerset’s arm,
saying, ‘If she’s not a Pieilobaptist, or I episcopalian :
if she is not vulnerable to the medimval influc.jces of
her mansion, lands, and new acquaintance, it is !;ccause
she’s been vulnerable to what is worse: to doctrines
beside wliich the errors of P;edobaptists, Episcopalians,
Roman Catholics, are but as air.’

‘ How ? Y<‘m astonish mo,’

‘ Have you heard in your metropolitan experience of
a curious Ixjdy of New Lights, as they think themselves ? ’
'I'he mini.^ter whispered a name to his listener, as if he
were fearful of being overheard.

* () no,* said Somerset, shaking his head, and smiling
at the ministers horror. ‘She’s not that; at least, I

70

GFORGE SOMERSET

th'nk no^ . . . Sht*s a \^«)lnaa; not hinc; more. DonT
Icar for her ; all ^ill 1)C '.m I.’

Th(* poor oM nun sighed, ‘I love her as my o^n
I will say no nion ’

Somerset vns rum in haste to go luuk to the la<lv,
to case her apourt .it ar‘SKty as to Iht result of his
mission, atui aNi> Ikc wU** tune seenierl heavy in the loss
of hei (Jiseitvt voir v and s<>lt. buoyant look. JiVery
moment of dr !iv iM'gm to U‘ as I » » lint tlie mini*«tei
was loo caMie-t in hi . f * Aua lo ‘vS his eompanioir<t
h an 1 it was not till pencption was f^iKcd ujHin
IniTi hy Ihi, t lal rcMrt 0 of Somerset th a he reinem-
kred lime to k‘ a n i it d lonimoditv. Me then
<\}iiessttl I 1 '•* h to ‘M ‘JtmiMt at lii> IicU'c* to tea
an> ahrTm>on ln' oonl ’ oio*, ami restiviiu’ the othei’s
{»romi>e to u H is M»<>n is li« ronid, dlow**d ilu younger
Ml O' t</ Mt out 1 r th« seniiiT houv‘» wldi h he did at
a ST.ijit pare. Um n Ik i m m vi it he looked around,
uiel toiind slic was gone.

Srentrset w is inmv‘di.it« 1v struck 1», Ins own U(k
oi social d< \tiTity. Uh) th I he art so ri‘adily on the
wliimsifal suggestion of anoliicT pcison. and lollow the
iiiiiuslu, whe'n he might hoc said that iv* would tall
on Mi. M >odwvil to-mr»now, ciid, in, iking himself
known to Miss Power as U.c visiting ^^chitect of whom
bhc had heard ft on Miss l>e Stancy, have had the
pleasure of atiuidmg her to the erotic? •That’s what
any other tnan would have had wii enough tcj do ’ *
he said.

There then arose the question whether her <l(‘Sf latch-
ing him after tin* .iimister was su» h an admirable art of
good- nature to a pood man as it had at first seemed to
lie. Perhiips it wfs simply a manieuvre for getting rid
ofhim.self; and he rcmenikTed his doubt whether a
certain light in her eyes when bbe inquired concerning
his sincerity were innocent earnestness or the reverse.
As the possibility of levity crossed his brain, his face
7 *

A LAODICEAN

warmed ; it pained him to think that a woman so in-
teresting (ould condescend to a trick of even so mild ^
complexion as that. He >tanted to think her the soul
of all that was tender, and noble, and kind. The
pl&isurc of setting himself to nin a minister's goodwill
was a little tarnished now.

GEORGE SOMERSET

Mil

Thm c^c Somtr t ^ is so preoaupud iMth
tlusL thirn^h t it ht h(l dl Ins skttihin^;; inpUinents
o it ut o J jrs in tlj a tk lIouii 1 1 he next niornirg

lu h St ned thjtlui to sn ir tl cm from l>ting stolen
or [<» 1 Mt inwhii nr n is liopm,^ to have an
oj 1 It) of r n I lul s iiiistike ibout his

p r milily, whith, num' s rvul a very good purpose
in jtjtro iu inj; ihcni to a imtuil r onvci^ition, might
p Ic mile jU'.t as a n uhlc as a thing to lie

(.\pluiud iw IN

He f^telu 1 his di iNNing instiumcnts, rods, skelthing
blocks and < th r aiucUs from t ii hi Id whcie they bid
lun, in 1 \N IS pisMiig under tiu n\ 11s with them in Ins
hin Is, NNhui then cnurgid from lh< outer anliNN i> an
open lindau driwii li) i pair of I Uck hor>es of fine
actio 1 ind obMOUsh string peduret, in N^hich Paula
NNis seated, undir the shade of i white parasol with
black and while ribbons fluttering on the summit llie
morning sun sparkled on the equipage, ts newness being
made all the more noticealdr by the ragged old arch
behind

She bowed to Somerset in a way which might have
been meant to express tliat she had discovered her mis-
take, but there was no embirrassment in her manner,
and the carruge bore her away without her making any
73

A LAODICEAN

sign for checking it. He had not been walking towards
the casllc entranc'C, and she could not be supposed to
know that it was his intention to enter that day.

She had looked such a bud of youth and promise
that his disappointment at her departure showed its(^lf
in his face as he observed her. However, he went on
his way, entered a turret, ascended to the leads of the
great tower, and stepped out.

From this clevatM position he could still see the
carrLige and the white surface of Paula’s parasol in the
glowing sun. While he watched the landau slopped,
and in a few moments the horses were turned, the wheels
and the panels flashed, and the carriage came bowling
along towards the castle again.

Somerset descended the stone stairs, before he had
quite got to the bottom he sawMi^> l)c Stancy standing
in the outer hall.

‘ When did you come, Mr. Somerset? * she gaily said,
looking up siiri>riscd. ‘ flow industrious \ou are to be
at work so regularly every day ! We didn’t think you
would be here to day : Paula has gone to a vegetable
show at Mcirkton, and I am going to join her there
soon.*

‘ O ! gone to a vegetable show. Put 1 think she
has altCR'd her ’

At tills moment the noise of tlic carriage was heard
in the ward, and alter a few seconds Miss Power came
in — Somerset l^ing invisible from the door where she
stood.

* O Paula^ what has brought you back ? * said Miss
De Stancy.

* I have forgotten something,*

* Mr. Somerset is here. Will you not speak to him ? *

Somerset came forward, and Miss Dc Stancy pre-
sented him to her friend. Mr. Somerset acknowledged
the pleasure by a respectful inclination of his person,
and said some words about the tneciing yesterday.

74

GEORGS SOMERSET

*Ycs,* said Miss Power, with a serene dclilxjratene^s
quite noteworthy in a girl of her age : * I have seen it
all since. I was mistaken about you, was 1 not ? Mr.
Somerset, I am glad to welcome you . here, lx)th as a
friend of Miss De Slancy^ family, and as the son of
your father — wiiich is indeed quite a sufficient intro-
duction anywhere.'

‘ You have two pictures painted by Mr. Somerset’s
father, have you not ? I have alrt?ady told him about
them,’ said Miss De Siam y, * Perhaps Mr. Somerset
would lik».' to stje them if tiicy are unpacked ? '

As Somerset had from l\i.s infancy suffered from a
plethora of tho«»e product aais, ellont as they were, he
did not reply quite so eagotivas Miss De Stata'V seemed
to expect to her kind siig;t‘‘Mion, and Paula remarked
to him, ‘ You ^^ill stay tu hmdi ? Do order 'll at your
oun lime, if our liour ‘.lujuld not be convenient.'

Her voice was voice ol low note, in quality that of
a flute at the grave end of its gamut. If she sang, she
was a pure contralto unmisiakably.

‘ I am making use of the permission you have l)een
good enough to grant me — oi sketching what is valuable
within these walls.’

‘Yes, of course, I am willing for anyl>ody to come.
People hold these places in tru.st for the nation, in one
sense. You* lift your hands, Charlotte; I see I have
not convinced you on that point yet.’

Miss De Stancy laughed, and said something to no
purpose.

Somehow Miss Power seemed not only more woman
than Miss De Stancy, but more woman than Somerset
was man ; and ]jft in years she was inferior to both.
Though becomingly girlish and modest, she appeared
to possess a good deal of composure, which was well
expressed by the shaded light of her eyes.

*You have then met Mr. Somerset l^forc?f said
Charlotte.

75

A LAODICEAN

* He was kind enough to deliver an address in my
defence yesterday. I suppose I seemed quite unable to
defend myself.*

‘ O no ! * said he.

A\^}icn a few more words had passed she turned to
Miss De Stancy and spoke of some domestic matter,
ui)on which Somerset withdrew, Paula accompanying his
exit with a remark that she hoped to see him again a
little later in the day,

Somerset retired to the chambers of antique luml)er,
keeping an eye upon the windows to sec if sl\c re-entered
the carriage and resumed her journey to Markton. But
when the horses had been standing a long time the
carriage was driven round to the stables. Then she
w'as not going to the vegetable show'. That was rather
curious, seeing that she had only come back for some-
thing forgotten.

These queries and thoughts occupied tlie mind of
Somerset until the bell was rung for luncheon. Owdng
to the very dusty condition in which he found himself
after his morning’s labours among the old carvings he
was rather late in getting downstairs, and seeing that the
rest had gone in he w’ent straight to the dining-hall.

The population of the castle had increased in his
absence. There were assembled Paula and her friend
Charlotte ; a bearded man some years oMe/ than him-
self, with a cold grey eye, who w'as cursorily introduced
to him in sitting down as Mr. Havill, an architect of
Markton ; also an elderly lady of dignified aspect, in a
black satin dress, of which she apparently had a very
high opinion. This lady, who seemed to be a mere
dummy in the establishment, was, ap he now learnt,
Mrs. Goodman by name, a w’idow of a recently deceased
gentleman, and aunt to Paula — the identical aunt who
had smuggled Paula into a church in her helpless
infancy, and had her christened without her parents*
knowledge. Plaving been left in narrow circumstances
76

GEORGE SOMERSET

by htr Inisiund, sht w is at present living iMth Miss
Povitr as diapiron and a< vistr on prartual malltr? —
m a v\ord, as lulla^t to the management lk>on(l her
^ >ntrvtt diMtrned his m \ i< qininlanc'c Mr \\ood\\ill,
who on sight of Son ti a v\ is lor histtning up to him
md ptrtonmng a luouud shaking ol hands in tarnu>t
n (ignition

I'luU hul just lonu in Inmi the girdcn, and was
<.irelcs‘ii> living dviwn lur Jii^t -» d\ Int as he intend
llir fiiL'. a M^ured v\ in in uk and white, was
shor* ill hi r I t( pi^i n llunwi something

HI ler o )k ind in t i svlc e»f her eoisi^e, which
r linn ltd h m 1 1 s«\<i i it t*>» Ineoni liauiies in the
n 111 d 11 ht t ir moment (rosse 1 his mind
tint ht n i } l 1 ve Ken i it ting one ol tl m

I ne ol i s( r mi, su mhI Mr HaviII, in a lo«g-
wi \ot« i< r )«,s t li when they wiu* seated,
i intii in tlu ('ll 4 ti< 1 1 thi iruened oik division

iKtwKn th( (iimn^ i dl ai el i vtstiliule it the end
‘ \s oo 1 i pieti ot toiirticnl'i ( enlnr) woik as you
SH '1 ee in th s pnrf of the oiirPrv *

\ou mean fifteenth eeniuiy, of course^* said
S »m( rs( f

H IV I w < silent ‘ ^ ou ire )ic of the profe'S urn,
perl ips ^ ’ xsked the htU r, fti r a while

‘ ^ ou iiK in tl It I im m inhitut^* siid Somerset
• \< s

\h one of my own honoured vocation’ Havill's
liee Ind Ixtn not unpU isant until tins moment, when
he smiled wheieupon there instantlv git imcd over him
a {ihase ol meanness, reniaimn until the smile died
aw iv

Havill continue*!], with slow watchfulness
‘What enormous sacrileges are committed by the
builders even' <lay, I observe’ I was driving yesterday
to Tonenorough where I am ere*eting a town hall, and
passing through a village on my way I saw the workmen
77

A LAODICEAN

pulling down a chancel-wall in which they found im-
bedded a unique sj)ecimen of Perpendicular work — a
capitjl from some old arcade — the mouldings wonder-
fully undercut. They were smashing it up as filling-in
for the new wall.*

‘It must have been unique,* said Somerset, in the
loo-rcadily controversial tone of the educated young
man who has yet to learn diplomacy. ‘ I have never
seen much undercutting in Perj^endicular slone-work ;
nor anybody else, I think.*

* O yes — lots of it ! ’ said Mr. Havill, nettled.

Paula looked from one to the other. ‘Which am
I to take as guide?* she asked. ‘Are Perpendicular
capitals undercut, as you call it, Mr. Ilavill, or no?*

‘ It dej)ends upon circumstances,* said Mr. Ilavill.
But Somerset had answered at the same time : ‘ I'here
is seldom or never any marked undercutting in moulded
work later than the middle of the fourteenth century.*
Havill looked keenly at Somerset for a time: then he
turned to Paula : ‘ As regards that fine Saxon vaulting
you did me the hom)ur to con.sult me alxDUt the other
day, T should advise taking out ‘^otne of the old stones
and reinstating new ones exactly like them.*

‘But the new ones won’t l)e Saxon,* said Paula,
‘And then in time to come, when I have passed aw^ay,
and those stones have become stained Inie the rest,
people will be deceived. I should prefer an honest patch
to any such make-believe of Saxon relics.*

As she concluded she let her eyes rest on Somerset
for a moment, as if to ask him to side with her. Much
as he liked talking to Paula, he would have preferred not
to enter into this discussion with another professional
man, even though that man were a spurious article :
but he was led on to enthusiasm by a sudden pang of
n*gret at finding that the masterly workmanship in this
fine mstle wms likely to be tinkered and spoilt such
a man a.s Havill.

78

GIORGL bOMEKbbl

*\ou y^iV dutivc nubcxlv mto btluxing that any-
thing IS M\on here, he si' warmly ‘I hire is not a
sqLart inch ot Sju-on as it is called, in the vshole
casllc

Pauli, m doubt lookt 1 t Mr Iludl
‘C> >cs, sir YOU aic (lUite niMiktn/ said that
gcnlltnun sloY-ly 1 \u\ stone of Ihost kwer \aults
iivas rt iTtd in SA\on tin t

‘1 c»n assure you,' snd Sonursil ikknntiallv, but
firmU * tint llun. is not ii i * 1 1 w dl in this cisik ol
a dit< nunior to ihc >tir iioo no oni whist alkn
tioi ius tver Uin gtsin to thi strnK ol nvlmcctuidl
di tails of lint i t 1 m I'H »t i iilk uit opinu n '

‘ I ha\( St i hi 1 mhitiitii ind I am ol a different
opinion 1 M ^ il < h si k isoii in thi world lor thu
dillcnon, for I 1 \ i i )r> htrscll oi m> si c Wlnt
will} on s\} wlun 1 itM »u that it is a ruoroid fut tint
this w IS iistil a i tl b> thi 1 n ns, uul lint it is
menu ned in Ikinu s i\ is a 1 1 1 ’ lin of long st indinj^ ? *
1 shall siy tint Ins nothin^ h do with ii/ nplitd
llu )oun; nnn 1 do I tKn> lint thirt nn> hi\e
been I t istlt hi If n the Innt ot the Konians whU
I si) IS, tint none of tlu arehiUrturc wc low sic was
St inding It th It due *

llitiewis a sil I of i ijunute, disturln d onl> by
a iiiurmuied dull nc Ixtwitn Mr Cioodnun and the
miMsttr, during wlidi 1 aula was lo 1 in ihou^'htlully
on the table as if li iminj; a (jiustion

‘ ( an It be/ she said to Si merset t)i it su( h rtn iinty
hi Ijtcn reached m the study of an intccturil dates?
Now, would sou redly risk anythin on your lx.hef?
Would ^ou acfn-c to lit shut up in tbo \aults and fed
upon bicad and w iter lor a week it 1 could prove you
wronj, *

‘Willingly/ said Somerset *lhe date of those
towers and arches is matter of absolute certainty from
the details lhat the\ should have been built before
79

A LAODICEAN

the Conquest is as unlikely os, say, that the rustiest old
gun with a percussion lock should be older than the
date of Waterloo.’

‘How I wish I knew something precise of an art
w'hich makes one so independent of written history ! ’

Mr. Havili had lapsed into a mannerly silence that
was only sullenness disguised. Paula turned her con-
versation to Miss I)e Stancy, who had simply looked
from one to the other during the discussion, though she
might liave Ix'en supposed to have a presciiptive right
to a few remarks on the matter. A commonplace talk
ensued, till Ha\ill, who haci not joined in it, privately
began at Somerset again with a mixed manner of cor-
diality, contempt, and misgiving.

‘ You have a practice, I suppose, sir ? *

* I am not in practice just yet.*

‘ Just bfginqiagi.ij., ^

‘ I am alx)ut to Ixjgin.’

‘In London, or near here?*

* In London probably.'

‘ H’nj. ... I am p^acti^ing in Markton.’

‘ Indeed. Have )ou lK*en at it long ? ’

‘ Not particularly. I designed the chapel built by
this lady’s late father; it was my first undertaking — I
owe mv stait, in fact, to Mr. Power. Ever build a
chapel ? ’

‘ Never. I have .sketched a good many ^ hurches.’

‘Ah — there we dilTcr. 1 didn’t do much sketching
in my youth, nor have I time for it now. Sketching
and building are two different things, to my mind. I
was not brought up to the profession — got into it
through sheer love of it. I liegan as a landscape
gardener, then I became a builder, then I was a road
contractor. F-very architect might do w'orse than have
some such experience. But now^adays ’tis the men w'ho
can draw pretty pictures w^ho get recommended, not the
practical men. Young prigs win Institute medals for
8o

GEORGE SOMERSET

n pretty de«;it,n or which, anybody t icd to build
them, would tail down hke a i ousc of lards . linn the\
get tra\cllinc: stud< nt‘»hips anu ^hat not, «ind then they
St rt as anliiuas of some new school or olhci, anil
think tlR\ are tht nnstirs i>i us e\ptn<.nctHi ones ^

^^hllc somtrstt was r ih tin; how tar this statomint
w IS triu he he rd tht vou ot Pauls inquiring, * ho
cm Ik Ik * ’

Ikr c\ts were l)cnt on the window Txioklng out,
^oincrsit siw in th< nif id Imond thi dii ditch, I>are,
wuh 1 1 “ p’i« togr ( hit app a f j

‘111 IS ll t \oiing gtiUlf niin who cabled alxiiit taking
Mcws ol tl < 1 il 'sud ( II rl itc

()\ts 1 II II Miilvt’' Ills ji lit light Ik nut me

in th tihiL^ an ’ kid i u to su uist him some Mtws
I di w ht him i le pt t ihk \i ui g hllow *

I tl ink hilt 11 whin,* slid Sonur it

* \ 1 1 1 11 1 1 ‘ lit IS fi 111 tht Last- at It he

\ il ‘ so to me

‘iluiL IS Iiiinn hlofxl in him,* said ( Inrlottc
I rij il ‘i or II Hikt to nw with an Itihm acicnt
lUil I I in r thii k will thtr ht is i ho) or a nun *

‘ It IS to Ik uiriii stl> Ik p d tl it tl t rtnlltmm dots
n t pitvmiiti <iid tht niu^tir, lor tl l hrst lime
ittiiittd l)> thi iilj il ‘I lUK^ m llv nut him in
tlic lini and lu sml sonu thin^ to im il out I ting
1 i\m 1 in M Iti I think it i is M n or liihrillir-
i\tn il lit did not siv that lu w u 1 oin tlu rt *

‘His nunntrs nt no truit to his n jtion ihly,*
ohstritd Mrs (loodmm, also [Hiking puhlu ly for
the first time ‘ Ht asked me tins morning to send
him out a jiail of waltr for his prottss, and lx.fore I
hid turned away he licgin whistling I don’t like
whistlers ’

* Then It appears,’ said Somerset, * that he is> a being
of no agt, no nalionalitv, and no I)ehaMOur ’

‘A compute ntgUiVA./ added Havill, brightening
8t

A LAODICEAN

into a civil sneer. * That is, he would be, if he were
not a maker of negatives well known in Markton/

* Not well known, Mr. HavilV answered Mrs. Good-
man firmly. * For I lived in Markton for thirty years
ending three months ago, and he was never heard of
in my time.'

‘He is something like you, Charlotte,* said Paubi,
smiling playfully on her companion.

All the men looked at Charlotte, on whose face a
delicate neivous blush thereupon made its appearance.

‘ *Pon my word there is a likeness, now I think of
it,* said Havill.

Paula bent down to Charlotte and whispered :
* Forgive my rudeness, dear. He is not a nice enough
person to be like you. lie is really more like one or
other of the old pictures about the house. I forget
which, and really it does not matter.

‘Peoplo/s features fall naturally into groups and
classes,* remarked Somerset. * ‘‘lo an ol »servant person
they often repeat thems(*lves ; thougli to a careless eye
they seem infinite in Iht ir differences.*

The conversation flagged, and they idly observed the
figure of the I'osmopolite Dare us he walked round his
instrument in the mead and busied himself w'ith an
arrangement of curtains anil lenses, oeeasionally with-
drawing a lew' steps, and looking eunteiiiplathely iit tl\e
lowers and walls.

GEOKOE SOMFRitET

IX

SoMERsm rfUirnui *0 top of the great tower
witli a \a^u* r<)n^nousm‘Ss that he was going to do
S4)iiv thing ip fhin* jurhap'? sktlch a geivial jilan of
the stiO< tan* lint he to disf ern that thfs St'incy-

ipiMKli in his stuth of (lOlhie architecture
iiejit U Us^ u^f il th.iM ornmuntal to hint as a
prnt< ‘-lonal man, tluni^h it was too agreeable to be
lUoKk/iud. iMnding alter a while tliat his (lrawin|^
progreS'iC\l hut by nason of infinite joyful

thought's more allied to Ins Vuiure llian to his art,
he relinquished rule and rouqjass, ami entMul one
of till two turrets oiirning f>n the root. ]( was not
the staircase hy whidi he i id ascciided, and ho pro
ectried to c\j)lor<* its lower part. I'ntcring from the
bla/e of light without, and unarming llie si.iirs to
dts<*cnd as usual, he ljec.i!ne aware alter a few steps
that there was suddenly nothing to tr(»ad on, and found
himself precipitated downwards to a distance of several
feet

Arrived at the Ixittom, lie was conscious of the
Ihippy fact that he iiad not seriously hurt himself,
though his leg w’as twis^ awkwardly. Next he per-
ceived that the stone steps lud lieen removed from the
turret, so that he had dropiK^l into it as into a dry
well , that, owing to its being walled up below, there

83

A LAODICEAN

was no door of exit on either side of him ; that he was^
in short, a prisoner.

Placing himself in a more comfortable position he
calmly considered the best means of getting out, or
of making his condition known. For a moment he
tried to drag himself up by his arm, but it was a
hopeless attempt, the height to the first step being far
too great.

He next looked round at a lower level. Not far
from his left cli^ow, in the concave of the outer wall,
was a slit for the admi.ssion of light, and he perceived
at once that through this slit alone lay his chance of
communicating with the outer world. At first it seemed
as if it were to be done by shouting, but when he learnt
what little cfTci't was produced by his voice in the midst
of such a mass of masonry, his heart failed him for a
moment. Yet, as cither Paula ^r Miss De Stancy would
j)robal)ly guess his visit to the toj) of the tower, there
w’as no cause for terror, if some for alarm.

• lie put his handkerchief through the window-slit, so
that it fluttered outsidi', and, fixing it in its place by
a large stone drawn from the loose ones around him,
awaited succour as best he could. To begin this course
of procedure was easy, but to abide in patience till it
should produce fruit was an irksome task. As nearly
as he could guess- -for his watch had lx‘en stopped by
the fall- it was now about four o’clock, and it would 1x5
scarcely pos.siblc for evening to apjiroach without some
eye or other notii'ing the white signal. So Somerset
w'aited, his eyes lingering on the little world of objects
around him, till they all l^camc quite familiar. Spiders*-
webs in plenty were there, and one in particular just
before him was in full use as a snare, stretching across
the arch of the window, with radiating threads as its
ribs. Somerset had plenty of time, and he counted
their numlior — fifteen. He remained so silent that the

owmer of this elaborate structure soon forgot the dis*

84

GEORGE SOMERSET

turbance whi«h had resulted m the breaking of hia
dnc;onU i\i% and utpt out from the corner to mend
tliun In ^atchim; the procc^^s, Somerset notKed that
on the stoiK^^otk behind the li^eb sundr) names and
mitiils had been cut by <\plorcrs m >c*irs gone by
Atnoiig these antique inscriptions he obser\ed two
bn ht ind rkan oi « , tonsisimg of the words ‘ De
Stiiuy’ ind I’i li, cross ng cich other at right

an^ll s J roin the state of the st me the y could not

hi\t 1m cut more tli-'n <i i nth 1 )re tl is d lU and,

ni isn i \ th< (iKunistin , scmuis t pisscil the lime
u 111 til sun i( 1C ht ^ the It in that side of the towci,

whtn, 1 ^ini Is In tin vc ^ in i stn ik of fire as

nurnw IS i Ml st nk, it lu^cd Its Width till the
c'* 1 t n< >k \ s ti( ( U 1 with ih cil il light It disclosed
Mill thma Kin, in toil r vcmch on c\ tiiin tion
trn i ) 1 I In Imiml \M ctlu r U w n hiiiiiiih or
h ^ nw trim the tc 1 ckr in tinith hc

coill 11 t tdl i) \ 1(11 ^ s not d whole skeleton,

1 ui It indt him tl ink of (iiiK\ii of Modem, tlif
h r iTK of tiv Mistli to( liouji and oth( i cribbed and
eonliiu d wn t( hes who hid liVn into such trips and
Util discovered afl« r a i>(lc of jeiis.

I he sun's ra)>. hid irivtlled some w i) round the
interior when Somdsits w^itin,^ ears were at last at
t’-acled b> footsteps alx)ve, each tread being brouj ht
d jwn by the hollow turret with great fukhty^ He
hoped that with these sounds would arise that ot a soft
voice he hid begun to like well Tnciceci, during the
solitiry hour or two of his waiting h* re lie had pi< tured
I’auia straying alone on the terrue of the eastk, looking
up, noting his signal, and ascending to deliver him from
his pan lul {xisition by her own exertions It seemed
tliat at length his dreim had l>ccn venfied I he foot-
steps approached the opening of the turret, and, at-
truted by the eall whieh Somerset now raised, b^an
to descend towards him In a moment, not Paula’s

85

A LAODICEAN

face, but that of a dreary footman of her household,
looked into the hole.

Somerset mastered his disappointment, and the man
speedily fetched a ladder, by which means the prisoner
of two hours ascended to the roof in safety. During
the process he ventured to ask for the ladies of the
house, and learnt tliat they had gone out for a drive
together.

Before he left the castle, however, they had returned,
a circumstance unexpectedly made known to him by
his receiving a message from Miss Power, to the e/Tcct
that she would be glad to see him at his convenience.
Wondering what it could possibly mean, he followed
the messenger to her room — a small modern library
in the Jacobean wing of the house, adjoining that in
which the telegraph stood. She was alone, sitting
behind a table littered with lj?tters and sketches, and
looking fresh from her drive. Perhaps it was because
he had l)ecn shut up in that dismal dungeon all the
liternoon that he felt something in her presence which
at the same time charmed and refreshed him.

She signified tliat he was to sit down; but finding
that he was going to place himself on a straight-backed
chair some distance off she said, ‘Will you sit nearer
to me ? * and then, as if rather oppressed by her dignity,
she left her own chair of business and seatt:d herself at
ease on an ottoman which was among the diversified
furniture of the apartment.

‘ I want to consult you professionally,^ she went on.
‘ I have been much impressed by your great knowledge
of castellated architecture. Will you sit in that leather
chair at the table, as you may have to take notes ? ’

The young man assented, expressed his gratification,
and went to the chair she designated.

‘ But, Mr. Somerset,’ she continued, from the ottoman
— the width of the table only dividing them — ‘ I first
should just like to know, and I trust you will excuse
86

GEORGE SOMERSET

my inquiry, if you are an architect in practice, or only
a$ yet studying fur the profession ? '

‘ I am just going to practise. I open my office on
the first of Januaiy’ next,* he answered

‘ Yi)U would not mind iuiving me as a client — your
f rst i lient ? ’ She looktvl curiously from her sideway
lace across the table as sIk‘ said this.

‘ ( an you a.sk it ' ’ i>.tid Somerset warmly. • What
I're YOU going to build?’

* 1 Mil guitig lo restore tiv r.,istli

‘Uiah ‘ill it?* said ‘^omers< t, astonished at the
auda( ily ot such an underlnking.

‘ Not t*’e j).jrts that arc ahsolri<‘ly ruinous : the walls
Uilicrod by thi* Parliament artilU rv had U-ttcr remain
as tiny are, I si ;>]>osc. I'm wi htive Ix'guu wrong;
it i; J uho ad; }(n., not 'ou ?nc. ... 1 fear/

sht wrn^ on, in that low noti vdili li was somewhat
<biti( lilt to rnt(‘h at n oistanre, * I fear what the anti-
ijuanans will say if 1 am not veiy careful. They come
here a great deal in summer, ami if I were to do the»
work wTong they iMit.id put my uainc in tlie papers as
.1 drcatlfiil person, liut 1 lnu^t livi* here, as I have
no other house, cxcipt tlic one in London, and hence
I iriust make th<' plaie liabitublc. I do hope 1 can
lru>t to jour judgment ?'

‘I hope so/ he Niid, W'ith diffidence, for, far from
having much professional confidence, he often mistrusted
liimself. ‘I am a hcllowof the Society of Antiquaries,
anti a Member of the Institute of lirilish Architei'ts —
nut a 1 illow of that l>ody >et, though 1 soon shall lie.’

*Tlun I am sure you mu.st Ixj trustworthy,* she said,
with enthusiasm. * Well, what am 1 to do ? — How do
welxrginP*

Somerset began to feel more professional, wliat with
the business chair and the tabic, and the writing-paper,
notwithstanding that these artir Ics, and the room they
were in. were I^rs instead of hiii ; and an evenness of
87

A LAODICEAN

manner which he had momentarily lost returned to him.
‘The very first step,* he said, ‘is to decide upon the
outlay — what is it to cost ? *

He faltered a little, for it seemed to disturb the soft-
ness of their relationship to talk thus of hard cash. But
her sympathy with his feeling was apparently not great,
and she said, ‘ The expenditure shall be what you
advise.*

‘ What a heavenly client 1 * he thought. ‘ But you
must just give some idea,* he said gently. ‘ For the
fact is, any sum almost may be spent on such a build-
ing : five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand,
fifty thousand, a hundred thousand.*

‘ I want it (lone well ; so suppose we say a hundred
thousand ? My father* s solicitor — my solicitor now —
says I may go to a hundred thousand without extra-
vagance, if the expenditure is scattered over two or
three years.*

Somerset look round for a pen. With quickness of
insight she knew what he wanted, and signified where
one could be found. He wrote down in large figures —

£ 100 , 000 .

It was more than he had expected ; and, for a young
man just beginning practice, the opportunlt) of playing
with another person’s money to that extent would afford
an exceptionally handsome opening, not so much from
the commission it represented, as from the attention
that would be bestowed by the art-world on such an
undertaking.

Paula had sunk into a reverie. ‘ I was intending to
intrust the work to Mr. Havill, a local architect,* she
said. ‘ But I gathered from his conversation with you
to-day that his ignorance of styles might compromise
me very seriously. In short, though my father em-
ployed him in one or two little matters, it would not be
S8

GEORGE SOMERSET

right — even a morally culpable thing — to place such an
historically valuable l>uilding in his hands.’

♦Has Mr. Havill ever been led to expect the com-
mission ? ’ he asked.

* He may have guessed that he would have it. 1
have sj>oken of iny intention to him more than once.*

Son»cTset thought over his conversation with Havill,
Well, he did not like Havill personally; and he had
strong reasons for suspecting that in the matter of
arc'hittvture Havill was a quack. But was it quite
generous t*' stop in tlius, and take away what would be
a golden opjiortunity to such a man of making both
ends niwl coinfoitahly for «ioTne years to come, without
giring him at least one chance? He reflected a little
longvT, and then spoke out ins feeling.

’ ‘T Venture to propose a slightly modified .arrange-
ment,’ he sai<l. ‘ Instead of committing the whole
undertaking to my hands . without better proof of my
ability to carry it out than you have at present, let there
Iv a competition lietwecn Mr. Havill and myself — ^let
our riv-al plans for the restoration and enlargement be
submitted to a committee of the Koyal Institute of
British Architects— and let the choice rest with them,
subject of course to your approval.*

* It is indeed generous of you to suggest it.* She
looked thoughtfully at him ; he appeared to strike her
ill a new light. ♦ You really recommend it ? * The
fairness which had prompted his words seemed to
incline her still more than before to resign herself en-
tirely to him in the matter.

‘ I do,* said Somerset deliberately.

* I will think of it, since you wish it. And now,
what general idea have you of the plan to adopt ? 1 do
not positively agree to your suggestion as yet, so I may
perhaps ask tlie question.*

Somerset, bdng by this time familiar with the genend
plan of the castle, took out his pendl and made a rough

A LAODICEAN

sketch. While he was doing it she rose, and coining
to the back of his chair, bent over him in silence.

‘Ah, I begin to see your conception,’ she tnur
mured ; and the breath of her words fanned his ear. He
finished the sketch, and held it up to her, saying—

‘I would suggest th.it you walk over the building
with Mr. Havill and myself, and detail your ideas to us
on each portion.’

‘ Is it necessary ? ’

‘ Clients mostly do it.’

‘ I will, then. But it is too late for me this evening
Please meet me to-morrow at ten.’

GEORGE SOMERSET

X

At ton o’clo k in thf' same room, ?«!uh

apj.iMnni' in r lut luiMn a bent up bnin lined

vith plant (1 silk, so that it suiioiinded h» r ion head
like a nimbus, and Somoistt annod with skf t\b-book,
mcaMiru'j rod, and other i])j}.ir.Uu ot nis in It.

‘And Ml HasilP’ ^-aid iIk jtaing man.

‘I h^^e not death tl to tmp o) him if I do he shall
po round with me indcpenduitly oi you,* she replied
rather brusqutly.

Soiuerstl was by no means soiry to hear this 1 1 is
duty to Ha\iU was done.

‘And now,* she said, they walked on together
througli the passages, ‘ I must tell you that I am not
a incdixvalist m>sdt , and perhaps that’s a pity.’

‘ What are >ou ^ ’

‘ I am Greek — that’s why I don't wish to influence
your design/

Somerset, as they proceeded, pointed out where roofs
had been and should be again, where gables had been
pulled down, and where floors liad vanished, showing her
how to reconstruct their details from marks in the walls,
much as a comparative anatomist reconstructs an ante-
diluvian from fnigmentary bones and teeth. She ap-
^red to be interested, Ibtened attentively, but said
Uttle in rq>ly. The}* were ultimately in a long narrow
9 *

A LAODICfiAN

passage, indifferently lighted, when Somerset, treading
on a loose stone, felt a twinge of weakness in one knee,
and knew in a moment that it was the result of the twist
given by his yesterday’s fall. lie paused, leaning against
the wall.

‘ What is it ? ’ said Paula, with a sudden timidity in
her voice.

‘ I slipped down yesterday,’ he said. ‘ It wdll be right
in a moment.’

* I — can I help you ? ’ said Paula. But she did not
come near him; indeed, she withdrew a little. She
looked up the passage, and down the passage, and be-
came conscious that it was long and gloomy, and that
nobody was near. A curious coy uneasiness seemed to
take possession of her. Whether she thought, for the
first lime, that she had made a mistake — that to wander
about the castle alone with him was compromising, or
whether it was the mere shy instinct of maidenhood,
nolK)dy knows ; but she said suddenly, ‘ I will get some-
thing for you, and return in a few minutes.*

* Pray don’t — it has quite passed ! ’ he said, stepping
out again.

But Paula had vanished When she came back it
was in the rear of Charlotte Dc Stancy. Miss De Stancy
had a tumbler in one hand, half full of wine, which she
offered him; Paula remaining in the back'll ound.

He took the glass, and, to satisfy hio companions,
drank a mouthful or two, though there was really nothing
whatever the matter with him beyond the slight ache
above mentioned. Charlotte was going to retire, but
Paula said, quite anxiou.sly, ‘You will stay with me,
Charlotte, won’t you ? Surely you are interested in what
1 am doing ? ’

* What is it ? ’ said Miss De Stancy.

‘ Planning how to mend and enlarge the castle. Tell
Mr, Somerset what I want done in the quadrangle — ^you
know quite well — and I will walk on.*

92

GEORGE SOMERSET

She walked on ^ but instead of talking on the subject
as directed, Charlotte and So»nersct followed chatting on
indifferent matters. They came to an inner court and
found Pauki standing there.

She met Miss Do Stancy a smile. * Did you
expliin ? * she asked.

‘ I have not c\pliiMr<l yot* Paula sciitod herself on
A stone iK^nch, and (.luirlotte ^^ent on: ‘Miss Power
thought of making a Greek court of this. But she will
not tell you so herself, ’leca e ‘t seems such dreadful
anachionism.’

‘ 1 said I would not tell nnv 'irrhitert mysr*lf/ inter-
posed Paula coiicitingly. ‘1 i»ul not then know that
he would be Ml. Somerset.*

‘It is rather startling/ sod S »in<Tsct.

‘A Greek ro!onnad< al! i mnd, you sai<^ ‘P.iula,*
contioiad luT h ss rdKMit io‘»|union. *A jaristyle
you called it--)ou sa.. it in e lu^ok, don’t >ou romem-
lKT?-and then you w»»ie to have a fountain in

tl.e middle, and statues like those in the British
Mui.ciim.*

*1 di<l say Si>/ remarked P.xula, pulling the leaves
from a young sycamore-tree tlwt h.id sprung up iK'lwccn
the joints of ih'* p.a\iiig.

From the spot wht^ie they if tliey could sec over the
roofs the upper part of the gie.U tower whtrein Somer-
set had met with his misadvt uturt . Tlu' tower stood
Ixildly up in tlic sun, and from one ol the slits in the
corner something white waved in the breeze.

‘\V*hat can that be?' said Charlotte. ‘Is i*. the
fluff of owls, or a handkerchief ? *

‘ It is my handkerchief,' Somerst t answered. * I fixed
it there with a stone to attract attention, and forgot to
take it away.'

All three looked up at the handkerchief with interest
* Why did you want to attract attention ? ' said Paula.

* O, I M into the turret ; but I got out very easily.'

93

A LAODICEAN

‘O Paula/ said Qiarlotte, turning to her friend,
‘ that must be the place where the man fell in, years
ago, and was starved to death 1 '

* Starved to death ? ' said Paula.

* They say so. O Mr. Somerset, what an escape ! *
And Charlotte De Stnncy walked away to a point from
which she could get a better view of the treacherous
turret.

‘ Whom did you think to attract ? * asked Paula, after
a pause.

‘ I thought you might see it.*

‘Me personally?' And, blushing faintly, her eyes
rested upon him.

‘I hoped for anybody. 1 thought of you,* said
Somerset.

She did not continue. In a moment she arose and
went across to Miss De Stancy. ‘ Don't you go falling
down and becoming a skeleton/ she said — Somerset
overheard the words, though Paula was unaware of it —
after which she clasped her fingers behind Charlotte*s
neck, and smiled tenderly in her Lee.

It seemed to be quite unconsciously done, and
Somerset thought it a very Ijcautiful action. Presently
Paula returned to him and said, ‘ Mr. Somerset, I think
we have had enough architecture for to-day.*

The two women then wished him good morning and
went away. Somerset, feeling that he had now every
reason for prowling al)out the castle, remained near the
spot, endeavouring to evolve some plan of procedure
for the project entertained by the beautiful owner of
those weather-scathed walls. But for a long time the
mental perspective of his new position so excited the
emotional side of bis nature that he could not concen-
trate it on feet and inches. As Paula's architect (sup-
posing Havill not to be admitted as a competitor), he
must of necessity be in constant communication with
her for a space of two or three years to come; and
94

GEORGE SOMERSET

(xirticulariy during the next few months She, doubt*
less, cherished far too ambitious views of her careiT to
fix‘l any personal interest in this enforced relationship
with him ; but he wouUl l>e at liberty to feel what lie
chose: and to be the victim of an unrequited passion,
while afforded such splendid opfxirtunities of communion
with the one Moved, d**|>rived that passion of its most
deploniblc features. Af cessibililv is a great point in
matters of love, and jx'rhaps of the Iwf) there is less
misery in losing with</ut return a gt^Mcss who is to be
seen and spoken to every da), than in ])a\ing an affirtion
ttnderly reciprocated by one always hoj>elessIv removed.

With t»ub view of having to spend a considerable
tinn‘ in the ncitdilxiurijood Somerset shifted his (junrters
tlhit ahernonn froia the little iiin at Sleeping (in en to
a larger one at Maiktcm. He required more i\v>ms in
which to cairy Paula's iu .tnictions than the. former
plj('e i>fford(*(i, and a more (tniral position. Having
naclicd and dined at Marln>n he found the evening
tedious, and again strolled out in the direction of the

(MSlle.

When he reached it the light was declining, and a
solemn stillness overspread the pile. The great lower
was in full view. That sp<»t of white which h'ok»*d like a
pigeon fluttering from the loophole w.us his handkerchief,
still luingitig in the place wImtc he had left it. His eyes
>c*t lingered on the w-alls when he notu ed, with surprise,
that the handkerchief suddenly vanished.

Ilelieving that tlie breczi*s, though weak below, might
have been strong enough at that height to blow it into
the turret, and in no hurry to get lUV the premises, he
leisurely climbed up to find it, ascending by the second
staircase, crossing the roof, and going to the top of the
trcaclierous turret, llie ladder by which he had escaped
still stood within it, and beside the ladder he beheUl the
dim outline of a woman, in a meditative atritude, holding
his handkerchief in her hand.

95

A LAODICEAN

Somerset softly withdrew. When he had reached
the ground he looked up. A girlish form was standing
at the top of the tower looking over the parapet upon
him— possibly not seeing him, for it was dark on the
lawn. It was either Miss De Stancy or Paula ; one of
them had gone there alone for his handkerchief and
had remained awhile, pondering on his escape. But
which ? ‘ If I were not a faint-heart I should run all
risk and w.ave my hat or kiss my hand to her, whoever
she is,' he thought. But he did not do either.

So he lingered about silently in the shades, and then
thought of strolling to his rooms at Markton. Just at
leaving, as he passed under the inhabited wing, whence
one or two lights now blinked, he heard a piano, and a
voice singing ‘The Mistletoe Bough.’ The song had
probably been suggested to the romantic fancy of the
singer by her visit to the scene of his captivity.

GEORGE SOMERSET

XT

Tin: idonlity of the laclv whom he hid seen on the
towor and altcrwartN ht ud was Chtiblishcd the

next da).

‘I 1 been tiu iking/ * ui Miss Power, on meeting
him, Mlut )ou nhi> re(}niri i studio on tlu* jMsiiiists.
If so, thr room 1 yon 3 isttrday is at your

S(nk'o. If I cn.plo. Mr. t(» tompele with )OU

1 ^Nill oiler him a snniUr om *

Si ihu ict did not decline, an«l she arldcd, * In the
same room )ou \mU lind the lundktrchief that \n.is left
Oil tin tow 01 ’

‘ \h, I saw that it was gone, ijoiuebody bi ought it
down I* '

‘ I did,* she slnly remarked, looking up foi a stcond
under her shady hat-biim.

‘ I am muc h obliged to you/

*0 no. 1 went up last night to sec where the aici-
dent hajjpened, and tlioie I found it. When you came up
were ) 0 U in search of it, or did }ou v, mt me ? *

*'lhcn she saw me/ he thought. ‘I went for the
handkerchief only ; I wms not aware that you were there,*
he answered simply. And he involuntarily sighed.

It WTis very soft, but she might have heard him, for
there was interest in her voice as she continued, * Did
you see me before you went back ? *

97

0

A LAODICEAN

‘ I did not know it was you ; I saw that some lady
was there, and I would not disturb her. I wondered
all the evening if it were you.*

Paula hastened to explain: ‘Wc understood that
you would stay to dinner, and as you did not come in
we wondered where you were. That made me think
of your accident, and after dinner I went up to the
place where it happened.*

Somerset almost wished she had not explained so
lucidly.

And now followed the piquant days to which his
position as her architect, or, at worst, as one of her
two architects, naturally led. His anticipations were
for once surpassed by the reality. Perhaps Somerset’s
inherent unfitness for a professional life under ordinary
circumstances was only proved by his great zest for it
now. Had he been in regular practice, with numerous
other clients, instead of having merely made a start with
this one, he would have totally neglected their business
in his exclusive attention to Paula’s.

The idea of a competition between Somerset and
Havill had been highly approved by Paula^s solicitor,
but she would not assent to it as yet, seeming quite
vexed that Somerset should not have taken the good
the gods provided without questioning her justice to
Havill. The room she had offered him was prepared
as a studio. Drawing-boards and Whatman’s paper
were sent for, and in a few days Somerset began
serious labour. His lirst requirement was a clerk or
two, to do the drudgery of measuring and figuring ; but
for the present he preferred to sketch alone. Some-
times, in measuring the outworks of the castle, he
ran against Havill strolling about with no apparent
object, who bestowed on him an envious nod, and
passed by.

* I hope you will not make your sketches,’ she said,
looking in upon him one day, * and then go away to

GEORGE SOMERSET

your studio in London nnd think of your other buildings
and forget mine. 1 am in haste to begin, and wish you
not to neglect me,*

* I liavc no other building to think oi/ said Somerset,
lising and plating a chair for her. ‘I had not begun
practice, as you may Jenow. I have nothing else in
hand but jour castle.*

‘ I suppose I ought not to say 1 am glad of it ; but
it is an advantage to liave an architect all to one's self.
The architect ^^ho^l 1 at hr*?! ihougiit of told me before
I knew \ou that if 1 pkatd the castle in his hands
he woultl uiultMtake no otlicr commission till its com-
pletion.*

‘ I agree to the same,’ said "some rset.

‘I don’t \Msli to bind you. i^ut I hindtr you now
— do pi ay go on without referent e to me. 'When will
there be some drawing for me to see ? *

‘ I will take care that it shall W soon.*

Ho had a metallic tape in his band, and went out of
the room to take some dimension in tlie corridor. The
assistant for whom he had advertised had not arrived,
and he attempted to fix the end of the tape by slicking
his penknife thiough the ring into the wall. Paula
looked on at a distance.

‘ I will hold it,* she said.

She went to the required corner and held the end
in its place. She had taken it the wrong way, and
Somerset went over and placed it properly in her fingers,
carefully avoiding to touch them. She obediently raised
her hand to the corner again, and stood till he had
finished, when she asked, ' Is that all ? *

‘ Tliat is all,* said Somerset. ‘ Thank you.* Without
further speech she looked at his sketch-book, while he
marked down the lines just acquired.

‘ You said the other day,* she observed, ‘ that early
Gothic work might be known by the under-cutting, or
something to that effect. 1 have looked in Rickman
99

A LAODICEAN

and the Oxford Glossary, but I cannot quite understand
what you meant.’

It was only too probable to her lover, from the way
in which she turned to him, that she had looked in
Rickman anrl the Glossary, and was thinking of nothing
in the world but of the subject of her inquiry.

* I can show you, by actual example, if you will come
to the chapel ? * he returned hesitatingly.

‘Don’t go on purpose to show me — when you are
there oji your own account I will come in.’

‘ I shall be there in half-an-hour.’

‘ Very well,’ said Paula. She looked out of a window,
and, seeing Miss De Stancy on the terrace, left him.

Somerset stood thinking of what lie had said. He
had no occasion whatever to go into the chapel of the
castle that day. He had been tc'mpted by her words
to say he would be there, and ‘ half-an-hour ’ had come
to his lips almost without his knowledge. 'Fhis com-
munity of interest — if it were not anything more tender
— was growing serious. What had passed between
them amounted to an appointment ; they wc’-e going
to meet in the most .solitary chamber of the whole
solitary pile. Could it be that Paula had wtH con-
sidered this in replying with her friendly ‘ Very well ? ’
Probably not.

Somerset proceeded to the chapel and w^aited. With
the progress of the seconds towards the hrlf-tiour he
began to discover that a dangerous admiration for this
girl had risen within him. Yet so imaginative was his
passion that he hardly knew a single feature of her
countenance well enough to remember it in her absence.
The meditative judgment of things and men which had
been his habit up to the moment of seeing her in
the Baptist chapel seemed to have left him — nothing
remained but a distracting wish to be always near her,
and it was quite with dismay that he recognized
what immense importance he was attaching to* the
100

GEORGE SOMERSET

question wliether she would keep the trifling engagement
or not.

The chapel of Stancy Castle was a silent place,
heaped up in corners witli a lumber of old panels, frame-
work, and broken coloured glass. Here no clock could
be heard beating out the hours of the day — here no
voice of priest or deacon had for generations uttered
the daily service denoting how the >ear rolls on. The
stagnation of the ''pot was sufficient to draw Somerset's
mind fora moment from the sul'^jict ^vhuh absorbed it,
and he thought, ‘ So, too, will time triumph over all this
lenour within ni(\'

Lilting his Cxcs from ilu flcnir on which liis foot had
been lapping n ^voush, he saw Paula standing at the
other end. Ti was not so pli isant when he, also saw
that Islrs. Goodman accomp.tnied her. The litter lady,
howwor, obligingly remained where slie was resting,
while Paula came forward, and, as usual, paused without
spCiiking

*Tt IS ill this little arcade that the example occurs,'
said Somerset.

* O yes,' she answered, turning to look at it

‘ Early piers, capitals, and mouldings, generally alter-
nated with deep hollows, so as to form strong shadows.
Now look under the abacus of this capital; you will
find the stone hollowed out wonderfully; and also in
this arch-mould. It is often difficult to undei stand how
it could be done without cracking off the stone. The
difference between this and late work can be felt by the
hand even belter than it can be seen.’ He suited the
action to the word and placed his hand in the hollow.

She listened attentively, then stretched up her own
hand to test the cutting as he had done; she was not
quite tall enough; she would step upon this piece of
wood. Having done so she tried again, and succeeded
in putting her finger on the spot. No ; she could not
understand it through her glove even now. She pulled
xoi

A LAODICEAN

off her glove, and, her hand resting in the stone channel,
her eyes became abstracted in the effort of realization,
the ideas derived through her hand passing into her
face.

‘ No, I am not sure now,* she said.

Somerset placed his owm liand in the cavity. Now
their two hands were close together again. They had
been close together half-an-hour earlier, and he had
sedulously avoided touching hers. He dared not let
such an accident happen now. And yet — surely she
saw the situation! Was the inscrutable seriousness
with which she applied herself to his lesson a mockery ?
There was such a bottomless depth in her eyes that it
was impossible to guess truly. Let it he that destiny
alone had ruled that their hands should be together a
second time.

All rumination was cut short by an impulse. He
seized her forefinger between his own finger and thumb,
and drew it along the hollow, saying, * That is the curve
I mean.*

Somerset’s hand was hot and trembling ; Paula’s, on
the contrary, was cool and soft as an infant’s.

‘ Now the arch mould,’ continued he. ‘ There — the
depth of that cavity is tremendous, and it is not
geometrical, as in later work.’ He drew her unresisting
fingers from the capital to the arch, and laid them in
the little trench as before.

She allowed them to rest quietly there till he relin-
quished them. * Thank you,’ tfhe then said, withdrawing
her hand, brushing the dust from her finger-tips, and
putting on her glove.

Her imperception of his feeling was the very sublimity
of maiden innocence if it were real; if not, well, the
coquetry was no great sin.

‘ Mr. Somerset, will you allow me to have the Greek
court I mentioned ? ’ she asked tentatively, after a long
break in their discourse, as she scanneef the green stones
loa

GEORGE SOMERSET

along the base of the arcade, with a conjectural counte-
nance as to his reply.

*Will your own feeling for the genius of the place
allow you ? *

‘ I am not a mecliaevalist ; I am an eclectic.*

‘ You don*t dislike youi own house on that account.*
‘ I did at first — 1 don't so much now. ... I should
love it, and adore every stone, and think feudalism the

only true romance of life, if *

‘What?*

‘If I were a De Stancy, and the castle the long
home of my forefathers.'

Somerset was a littu surprised at the ti\owal; the
ministers woid- on the e/lMls of her new environment
recurred to his mind. ‘ Miss De Stancy doesn’t think
so,' he said. ‘ She carts nothing about those tilings.*
Paula now turned to him: hithcito her roniaiks had
been sparingly spoken, her eyes being directed else-
where : * Yes, that is very strange, is it not ? * she said.
‘Put it is owing to the joyous freshness of her nature
which precludes her fiom dwelling on the past — indeed,
the past is no moic to her than it is to a sparrow or
robin. She is scarcely an instance of the wearing out
of old families, for a younger mental constitution than
hers I never knew.**

‘Unless that very simplicity represents the second
childhood of her line, rather than her own exclusive
character.’

Paula shook her head. ‘In spite of the Greek
court, she is more Greek than I.*

‘ You represent science rather than art, perhaps,’

‘ How ? ’ she asked, glancing up under her hat.

* I mean,’ replied Somerset, ‘ that you represent the
march of mind — the steamship, and the railway, and the
thoughts that shake mankind,’

She weighed his words, and said: ‘Ah, yes: you
allude to my father. My father was a great man ^ but
103

A LAODICEAN

I am more and more forgetting his greatness : that kind
of greatness is what a woman can never truly enter Into.
I am less and less his daughter every day that goes by.'

She v/alked away a few steps to rejoin the excellent
Mrs. Goodman, who, as Somerset still perceived, was
waiting for Paula at the discreetest of distances in the
shadows at the farther end of the building. Surely
Paula's voice had faltered, and she had turned to hide
a tear?

She came bnck again. ‘Did you know that my
father made half the railways in Europe, including that
one over there ? ' she said, waving her little gloved hand
in the direction whence low rumbles were occasionally
heard during the day.

‘ Yes.'

‘ How di<l you know ? ’

‘ Miss Dc Stancy told me a little ; and I then found
his name and doings were quite familixr to me.'

Curiously enough, with his words there came through
the broken window's the murmur of a train in the dis-
tance, sounding clearer and more clear. It was nothing
to listen to, yet tliey both listened ; till the increasing
noise suddenly bnxke off into dead sileniH‘.

‘ It has gone into the tunnel,' .said Paula. ‘ Have
you seen the tunnel my father made? the curves are
saiil to be a triumph of science. There is nciLing else
like it in this part of England.'

* There is not ; 1 have heard so. But I have not
seen it.'

* Do you think it a thing more to he proud of that
one's father should have made a great tunnel and rail-
way like that, than that one's remote ancestor should
have built a great castle like this ? '

What could Somerset say ? It would have required
a casuist to decide whether his answer should depend
upon his conviction, or upon the family ties of such a
questioner. ‘From a modern point of view, railways
to4

OEORCE SOMERSET

are, no doubt, things mon to proud of than castles,’
he said ; ‘ though perhaps I myself, from mere associa-
tion, should decide in favour of the ancestor who built
the castle.’ The serious anxuty to be truthful th.it
Somerset threw into his oliservation, was more than the
ciriumstance requind 'To design great cnguitering
woiks,’ he added inus- jly, and without the least eye to
the disparagement of her parent, ‘lequircs no doubt a
leading mind. But to eveente tin n, as he did, requires,
of toursc, only a followin n ind ’

Ills reply had not alto.ether pli sed Inr and there
wis a distimt r(pio.tth lomtycd by her slight move-
ment towirds Mrs. Goodimn lie saw it, and was
uiieted that Ik dioiild he spoken so ‘1 am going
to walk over and iiispevt tint himous tunml of your
f.itluT s,’ ht added gentl> ‘ It will k a j leasant study
for tins af(( moon ’

She went awaj ‘I am no nun of the world,’ he
thought ‘ I oujihl to have pniscd th.it father of hers
straight off. I shall not win her respiet, much less
her iovf'l’

A LAODICEAN

XII

Somerset did not forget what he had planned,
and when lunch was over he walked away through
the trees. The tunnel was more difficult of discovery
than he had anticipated, and it was only after consider-
able winding among green lanes, whose deep ruts were
like Caflons of Colorado in miniature, that he reached
the slope in the distant upland where the tunnel began.
A road stretched over its crest, and thence along one
side of the railway-cutting.

He there unexpectedly saw standing Miss Power^s
carriage ; and on drawing nearer he found it to contain
Paula herself, Miss De Stancy, and Mrs. Goodman.

* How singular ! ' exclaimed Miss De Stancy gaily,

* It is most natural,’ said Paula instantly. * In the
morning two people discuss a. feature in the lanuscape,
and in the afternoon each has a desire to see it from
what the other has said of it. Therefore they acciden-
tally meet.’

Now Paula had distinctly heard Somerset declare
that he was going to walk there; how then could she
say this so coolly ? It was .with a pang at his heart
that he returned to his old thought of her being
possibly a finished coquette and dissembler. Whatever
she might be, she was not a creature starched very
stiffiy by Puritatusm*

io6

GEORGE SOMERSET

Somerset looked dovvn on the mouth of the tunnel
The popular commonplace that science, steam, and
travel must always be unromantic and hideous, was
not proven at this spot. On cither slope of the deep
cutting, green with long grass, grew drooping young
trees of ash, beech, and other flexible varieties, theii
foliage almost concealing the actual railway which ran
along the bottom^ its thin steel rails gleaming like
silver threads in the depths. The vertical front of
the tunnel, faced with buck that had once been red,
was now weather-stained, lichened, and mossed over
in harmonious rusty-browns, pearly greys, and neutral
greens, at the very l)ase appearing a little blue-black
spot like a mouse-hole — the tunners mouth.

The carriage was draivn up quite close t'o- the wood
railing, and Paula was looking down at the same time
with him ; but he made no remark to her.

Mis. Goodman broke the silence by sa\ing, ‘If it
were not a railway we should call it a lovely dell.'

Somerset agreed with her, adding that it was so
charming that he felt inclined to go down.

‘If you do, perhaps Miss Power will order you up
again, as a trespasser,' said Charlotte I)e Stancy. ‘ You
are one of the largest shareholders in the railway, are
you not, Paula ? '

Miss Power did not reply.

' I suppose as the road is partly yours you might
walk all the way to London along the rails, if you
wished, might you not, dear?' Charlotte continu>sd.

Paula smil^, and said, * No, of course not'

Somerset, feeling himself superfluous, raised his bat
to his companions as if he meant not to see them
again for a while, and began to descend by some steps
cut in the earth ; Miss De Stancy asked Mrs. Good^
man to accompany her to a barrow over the top of the
tunnel ; and they left the carriage, Paula remaining alone.

Down Somerset plunged through the long grassy
X07

A LAODICEAN

bushes, late summer flowers, moths, and caterpillars,
vexed with himself that he had come there, since Paiila
was so inscrutable, and humming the notes of some
song he did not know. The tunnel that had seemed
so small from the surface was a vast archway when he
reached its mouth, which emitted, as a contrast to the
sultry heat on the slopes of the cutting, a cool breeze,
that had travelled a mile underground from the other
end. Far away in the darkness of this silent sub-
terranean corridor he could see that other end as a
mere speck of light.

When he had conscientiously admired the construc-
tion of the massive archivault, and the majesty of its
nude ungarnished walls, he looked up the slope at the
carriage; it was so small to the eye that it might have
been made for a performance by canaries ; Paula^s face
being still smaller, as she leaned back in her seat, idly
looking down at him. There seemed something roguish
in her attitude of criticism, and to be no longer the
subject of her contemplation he entered the tunnel out
of her sight.

In the middle of the speck of light before him
appeared a speck of black; and then a shrill whistle,
dulled by millions of tons of earth, reached his ears
from thence. It was what he had been on his guard
against all the time, — a passing train; and mstead of
taking the trouble to come out of the tunnel he stepped
into a recess, till the train had rattled past, and vanished
onward round a curve.

Somerset still remained where he had placed himself,
mentally balancing science against art, the grandeur ot
this fine piece of construction against that of the castle,
and thinking whether Paula’s father had not, after all,
the best of it, when all at once he saw Paula’s form
confronting him at the entrance of the tunnel. He
instantly went forward into the light ; to his surprise she
was as pale as a lily.

108

OBORGB SOMERSET

*0, Mn Somerset!' she exclaimed. ‘You ought
not to frighten me so — indeed you ought not I The
train came out almost as soon as you had gone in, and
as you did not return — an accident was possible I '

Somerset at once perceived that he had been to blame
in not thinking of this.

‘ Please do forgive iny thoughtlessness in not reflect-
ing how it would stiike you I ' he pleaded. ‘ I — I see I
have alarmed you.*

Her alarm was, indet d, much greater than he had
at first thought: she trembled so much that she was
obliged to sit dowm, at which he w'cnt up to her full of
solicitousness.

‘ You oug!it not to hnvc done it I * she said. ‘ I
naturally thought — any person would *

Somerset, perhaps wisely, said nothing at' this out-
burst ; the cause of htr vex.>tion wms, plainly enough,
his perception of her discomposure. 11c stood looking
in another direction, till in a lew moments she had risen
to her feet again, quite calm.

‘It would have hcim dreadful,* she said with faint
gaiety, as the colour returned to her face ; ‘ if I had lost
my architect, and been obliged to engage Mr. Havill
without an alternative.*

* I was really in no danger; but of course I ought to
have considered,* he said.

‘I forgive you,* she returned good-naturedly. ‘I
knew there was no great danger to a person exercising
ordinary discretion; but artists and thinkers like you
are indiscreet for a moment sometimes. 1 am now going
up again. What do you think of the tunnel ? *

They were crossing the railway to ascend by the
opposite path, Somerset keeping his eye on the interior
of the tunnel for safety, when suddenly there arose a
noise and shriek from the contrary direction behind the
trees. Both knew in a moment what it meant, and each
seized the other as they rushed off the permanent way.

109

A LAODICEAN

The ideas of both had been so centred on the tunnel as
the source of danger, that the probability of a train from
the opposite quarter had been forgotten. It rushed
past them, causing Paula’s dress, hair, and ribbons to
flutter violently, and blowing up the fallen leaves in a
shower over their shoulders.

Neither spoke, and they went up several steps,
holding each other by the hand, till, becoming conscious
of the fact, she withdrew hers; whereupon Somerset
stopped and looked earnestly at her ; but her eyes were
averted towards the tunnel wall.

* What an escape ! ’ he said.

‘ We were not so very near, I think, were we ? * she
asked quickly, ‘If we were, I think you were — ^very
good to take my hand.’

They reached the top at last, and the new level and
open air seemed to give her a new mind. ‘ I don’t see
the carriage anywhere,’ she said, in the common tones
of civilization.

He thought it had gone over the crest of the hill;
he would accomj^ny her till they reached it.

« No — please — I would rather not — I can find
it very well.’ Before he could say more she had
inclined her head and smiled and was on her way
alone.

The tunnel-cutting appeared a dreary gulf enough
now to the young man, as he stood leaning ever the
rails above it, beating the herbage with his stick. For
some minutes he could not criticize or w^eigh her con-
duct; the warmth of her presence still encircled him.
He recal^ her face as it had looked out at him from
under the white silk puffing of her black hat, and the
speaking power of her eyes at the momet# danger.
The breadth of that clear-complexioned forehead — almost
concealed by the masses cf brown hair bundled up
around it — signified that if her disposition were oblique
and insincere enough for trifling, coquetting, or in any
no

GEOBJQB SOMERSET

way making a fool of him, she had the intellect to do it
cruelly well.

But it was ungenerous to ruminate so suspiciously
A girl not an actress by profession could hardly turn
pale artificially as she had done, though perhaps. ntere
fright meant nothing, and would have arisen in her just
as readily had he l)ecn one of the la1x)urers on her
estate.

l*he reflection that such feding as she had exhibited
could have no tender meaning returned upon him with
masterful force when he thought of her wealth and t^e
social position into which she had drifted. Somerset,
being of a solitary and studious nature, was not quite
competent to estimate precisely the disqualifying effect,
if any, of her nonconformity, her newness of blood, and
other things, among the old county families cstal)lished
round her; but the toughest j)rejudiccs, he thought,
were not likely to \yt long invulnerable to such cheerful
lieauty and brightness of intellect as Paula’s. When
she emerged, as she was plainly about to do, from the
secliLMon in which she had been living sindirher father’s
death, she would inevitably win her way among her
neighbours. She would become the local topic.
Fortune hunters would learn of her existence and draw
near in shoals. What chance would tlicre then be
for him?

The points in his favour were indeed few, but they
were just enough to keep a tantalizing hope alive.
Modestly leaving out of count his personal and intel-
lectual qualifications, he thought of his family. It Was
an old stock ‘enough, though not a rich on^ His
great-uncle had been the weU-known Vice-admiral Sir
Armstrong ^MMerset, who served his country well in the
Baltic, the China, and the Caribbean Sea. His

grandfather had been a notable metaphysician. His
fidher, the Royal Academician, was popular. But
perhaps this was not the sort of reasoning likdy to
111

A LAODICEAN

occupy the mind of a young woman; the personal
aspect of the situation was in such circumstances of far
more import. He had come as a wandering stranger —
that possibly lent some interest to him in her eyes.
He 'v^as installed in an office which would necessitate
free communion with her for some time to come ; that
was another advantage, and would be a still greater one
if she showed, as Paula seemed disposed to do, such
artistic sympathy with his work as to follow up with
interest the details of its progress.

The carriage did not reappear, and he went on
towards Markton, disinclined to return again that day
to the studio which had l)een prepared for him at the
castle. He heard feet brushing the grass behind him,
and, looking round, saw the Baptist minister.

‘ I have just come from the village,’ said Mr.
Woodwell, who looked worn and weary, his boots being
covered with dust ; * and I have learnt that which con-
firms my fears for her.’

‘ For Miss Power? ’

‘ Most assuredly,’

* What danger is there ? ’ said Somerset.

‘The temptations of her position have become too
much for her! She is going out of mourning next
week, and will give a large dinner-party on the occasion ;
for though the invitations are partly in the name of her
relative Mrs. Goodman, they must come from her. The
guests are to include people of old cavalier families who
would have treated her grandfather, sir, and even her
father, with scorn for their religion and connections;
also the parson and curate — yes, actually people who
believe in the Apostolic Succession; and what’s more,
they’re coming. My opinion is, that it has all arisen
from her friendship with Miss De Stancy.’

‘Well,’ cried Somerset warmly, ‘this only shows
liberality of feeling on both sides 1 1 suppose she has
invited you as well ? *

1X2

GEOHCB SOMBRSET

*She has not invited me! . . . Mr. Somerset, not-
withstanding your erroneous opinions on important
matters, I spe^ to you as a friend, and 1 tell you that
she has never in her secret heart forgiven that sermon
of mine, in which I likened her to the church at
Laodicea. I admit the words were harsh, but I was
doing my duty, and if the case arose to-morrow I would
do it again. Her displeasure is a deep grief to me;
but I serve One greater than she. , . You, of course,
are invited to this dinner ? *

< I have heard nothing of it,’ murmured the young
man.

Their paths diverged; and when Somerset reached
the hotel he was informed that somebody was waiting
to see him.

‘ Man or woman ? * he asked.

The landlady, who always liked to reply in person to
Soincrbet’s inciuiries, .apparently thinking him, by virtue
ol his dravving impkments and liberality of payment,
a possible lord of Burleigh, came forward and said it
was certainly not a woman, but whether man or boy
she could not say. ^His name is Mr. Dare,’ she
added.

‘ O — that youth,’ he said.

Somerset went upstairs, along the passage, down two
steps, round the angle, and so on to the rooms reserved
for him in this rambling edifice of stage-coach memones,
where he found Dare waiting. Dare came forward,
pulling out the cutting of an advertisement.

•Mr. Somerset, this is yours, I believe, from the
Architectural World V

Somerset said that he had inserted it.

• I think I should suit your purpose as assistant very
wcU.*

• Are you an architect’s draughtsman ? '

• Not specially. I have some knowledge of tbe iune,
and Hmnt to increase it/

u$

A LAODICEAN

‘ I thought you were a photographer.*

‘Also of photography/ said Dare mth a bow.
‘Though but an amateur in that art I can challenge
comparison with Regent Street or Broadway.’

Somerset looked upon his table. Two letters only,
addressed in initials, were lying there as answers to his
advertisement He asked Dare to wait, and looked them
over. Neither was satisfactory. On this account he
overcame his slight feeling against Mr. Dare, and put
a question to test that gentleman’s capacities. ‘How
would you measure the front of a building, including
windows, doors, mouldings, and every other feature, for
a ground plan, so as to combine the greatest accuracy
with the greatest despatch?’

‘ In running dimensions/ said Dare.

As this was the particular kind of work he wanted
done, Somerset thought the answer promising. Coming
to terms with Dare, he requested tlie would-be student
of architecture to wait at the castle the next day, and
dismissed him.

A quarter of an hour later, when Dare was taking a
walk in the country, he drew from his pocket eight other
letters addressed to Somerset in initials, which, to judge
by their style and stationery, were from men far superior
to those two whose communications alone Somerset had
seen. Dare looked them over for a few seconds as he
strolled on, then tore them into minute fragments, and,
burying them under the leaves in the ditch, went on his
way again.

OEORGE SOMBH|Enr

XIII

Though exhibiting indifference, Somerset had felt
a pang of disappointment when he heard the news 6f
Paula’s approaching dinner-party. It seemed a little
unkind of her to pass him over, seeing how much they
were thrown together just now. That dinner meant
more than it sounded. Notwithstanding the roominess
of her castle, she was at present living somewhat incom-
modiously, owing partly to the stagnation caused by her
recent bereavement, and partly to the necessity for over-
hauling the De Stancy lumb^ piled in those vast and
gloomy chambers before they codd be made tolerable to
nineteenth-century fastidiousness.

To give dinners on any large scale before Somerset
had at least set a few of these rooms in order for her,
showed, to his thinking, an overpowering desire for
society.

During the wedL he saw less of her than usual, her
time being to aU appearance much taken up with driving
out to make calls on her neighbours and receiving return
visits. All this he observed from the windows of his
studio overlooking the castle ward, in which room he now
spent a great d^ of his time, bending over drawing-
boards and instructing Dare, who worked as wdl as
could be espected of a youth of sudi vaHed attainments.

Nearer came the Wednesday of the party, and no
Its

LAODICEAN

hint of that event reached Somerset, but such as had
been communicated hy the Baptist minister. At last,
on the vezy afternoon, an invitation was handed into his
studio — not a kind note in Paula’s handwriting, but a
formal printed card in the joint names of Mrs. Good-
man and Miss Power. It reached him just four hours
before the dinner-time. He was plainly to be used as a
stop-gap at the last moment because somebody could
not come.

Having previously arranged to pass a quiet evening
in his rooms at the Lord Quantock Arms, in reading up
chronicles of the castle from the county history, with the
view of gathering some ideas as to the distribution of
rdoms therein before the demolition of a portion of the
structure, he decided off-hand that Paula’s dinner was
not of sufficient importance to him as a professional man
and student of art to justify a waste of the evening by
going. He accordingly declined Mrs. Goodman’s and
Miss Power’s invitation; and at five o’clock left the
castle and walked across the Helds to the little town.

He dined early, and, clearing away heaviness with
a cup of coffee, applied himself to that volume of the
county history which contained the record of Stancy
Castle.

Here he read that ‘when this picturesque and
ancient structure was founded, or by whom, is extremely
uncertain. But that a castle stood on the site in wery
early times appears from many old books of charters.
In its prime it was such a masterpiece* of fortification
as to the wonder of the world, and it was thought,
before the invention of gunpowder, that it never could
be taken by any force less than divine.’

He read on to the times when it first passed into
the hands of ‘ De Stancy, Chivaler,’ and received the
family name, and so on De Stancy to De Stancy
till he was lost in the reflection whether Paula would or
would not have thought more highly of him if be faa^
xs6

OEORGB SOMBRSST

accepted the invitation to dinneft Applying himself
again to the tome, he learned that in the year 1504
Stephen the carpenter v^as ^paid eleven pence for
necessarye lepayrs/ and William the mastermason eight
shillings * for whyt lyming of the kitchen, and the lyme
to do It with,’ including *a new rope for the fyer bell; ’
also the sundry charges for <vij crockes, jriij lytyll pans,
a pare of pot hookes, a fyer pane, a lanterne, a chafynge
dyshe, and xij candyll stychs,’

Bang went eight strokes of the dock, it was tb^
dinner-hour.

* There, now I can’t go, anyhow!’ he said bitterly,
jumping up, and picturing her receiving her tjpmpany.
How would she look, what would she wea)^?
foundly indifferent to the early history of the noble
fabric, he felt a violent reaction towards modernism,
eclecticism, new aiistouacics, everything, in short, ^hat
Paula rt presented. He even gave himself up to con-
sider the (ireek court that she had wished for, and
passed the remainder oi the evening m making a per-
specti\e view of the same.

The next morning he awoke early, and, resolving to
be at work betimes, started promptly. It was a fine
calm hour of day; the grass slopes were sdvery with
excess of dew, and the blue mists hung in the depths of
each tree for want of wind to blow them out. Somerset
entered the drive on foot, and when near the castle he
observed in the gravel the wheel-marks of the carriages
that had conveyed the guests thither the night before.
There seemed to have bwn a large number, for the road
where newly repaired was ^uite cut up. Before goiitg
indoors he was tempted to walk round to the wing in
wluch Paula slept

Rooks were cSiWing, sparrows were diattoring there}
but the blind of her window was as dto)|fe drawn aa
if It were midnight Probably Shi w^'IIMnil aale^
drennipg of the compliments which had been paid her
117

A LAODICEAN

by her guests, and of the future triumphant pleasures
that would follow in their train. Reaching the outer
stone stairs leading to the great hall he found them
shadowed by an awning brilliantly striped with red and
blue, within which rows of flowering plants in pots
bordered the pathway. She could not have made more
preparation had the gathering l^een a ball. He passed
along the gallery in which his studio was situated,
entered the room, and seized a drawing-board to put
into correct drawing the sketch for the Greek court that
'^iie had struck out the night before, thereby abandoning
his art principles to j)lease the whim of a girl. Dare
had not yet arrived, and after a time Somerset threw
down his pencil and leant back.

His eye fell upon something that moved. It was
white, and lay in the folding chair on the opposite side
of the room. On near approach he found it to be a
fragment of swan’s-down fanned into motion by his own
movements, and partially squeezed into the chink of the
chair as though b> some person sitting on it.

None but a woman would have worn or brought that
swan’s-down into his studio, and it made him reflect on
the possible one. Nothing interrupted his conjectures
till ten o’clock, when Dare came. Then one of the
servants tapped at the door to know if Mr. Somerset
had arrived. Somerset asked if Miss Power wished to
see him, and was informed that she had only wished to
know if he had come. Somerset sent a return message
that he had a design on the board which he should soon
be glad to submit to her, and the messenger departed.

* Fine doings here last night, sir,’ said Dare, as he
dusted his T-square.

‘ 0 indeed 1 ’

‘ A dinner-party, I hear ; eighteen guests.'

* Ah,’ said Somerset.

‘The young lady was magnificent — sapphires and
opals — she carried as much as a thousand pout^s upon
218

GEORGE SOMERSET

her head and shoulders during that three or four hours.
Of course they call her charming; Compua^ta no hay
mugcr fea, as they say at Madrid *

‘ I don*t doubt it for a moment,* said Somerset, with
reserve.

Dare said no more, and presently the door opened,
and there stood Paula.

Somerset nodded to Dare to withdraw into an adjoin-
ing room, and offered her a chair.

‘You wish to show me the design you have pre-
pared ? * she asked, ^\lthout taking the seat

‘ Yes ; 1 ha\e come round to your opinion. I have
made a plan for the Greek court you were anxious to
build.’ And he elevated the drawing-board against the
wall.

She regarded it attentively for some moments, her
finger resting lightly against her chin, and said, ‘ I have
given up the idea ol a Greek court.’

He showed his astonishment, and ^ds almost dis-
appointui. ITe had been grinding up Greek archi-
tecture entirely on her account; had wrenched his mind
round to this strange arrangement, all for nothing,

* Yes,’ she continued ; * on reconsideration I perceive
the want of harmony that would result from inserting
such a piece of marble-work in a mediaeval fortress ; so
in future we will hmit ourselves strictly to synchronism
of style — that is to say, make good the Norman
work by Norman, the Perpendicular by Perpendicular,
and so on. 1 have informed Mr. Havill of the same
thing.’

Somerset pulled the Greek drawing off the board,
and tore it in two pieces.

She involuntarily turned to look in his face, but
stopped before she had quite lifted her eyes high
enough ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked with
suave curiosity.

‘ It of no further use,’ said Somerset, tearing the
Z19

A LAODICEAN

drawing in the other direction, and throwing the pieces
into the fireplace. ‘You have been reading up orders
and styles to some purpose, I perceive.’ He regarded
her with a faint smile.

‘I have had a few books down from town. It is
desirable to know a little about the architecture of one’s
own house.’

She remained looking at th^ torn drawing, when
Somerset, observing on the taUe the particle of swan’s-
down he had found in the chair, gently blew it s6 that
it skimmed across the table under her eyes.

‘ It looks as if it came off a lady’s dress,’ he said idly.

‘ Off a lady’s fan,’ she replied.

‘ O, off a fan ? ’

‘ Yes ; off mine.’

At her reply Somerset stretched out his hand for the
swan’s-down, and put it carefully in his pocket-book;
whereupon Paula, moulding her cherry-red lower lip
beneath her upper one in arch self-consciousness at his
act, turned away to the window, and after a pause said
softly as she looked out, ‘ Why did you not accept our
invitation to dinner ? ’

It was impossible to explain why. He impulsively
drew near and confronted her, and said, ‘ I hope you
pardon me ? ’

‘ I don’t know that I can quite do that,’ answered
she, with ever so little reproach. * I know why you did
not come — you were mortified at not being asked sooner 1
But it was purely by an accident that you received your
invitation so late. My aunt sent the others by post, but
as yours was to be delivered by hand it was left on her
table, and was overlooked.’

Surely he could not doubt her words; those nice
friendly accents were the embodiment of truth itself.

‘I doni^ niean to make a lerioua complaint,’ she
added, in injured tones, showing that she did. ‘ Only
we had asked nearly all of thm to meet yoi^, as the
xso

SOMERSET

00 of your illustrious father, whom many of my fiieuBp
know personally ; and — they were disapj^inted.’ ;

It was now time for Somerset to be genuinely grieyoS
at what he had done. Paula seemed so go^ and;
honourable at that moment that he could have laid'
down his life for her.

< When I was dressed, I came in here to ask you to
reconsider your deqjaion/ she Continued; 'or to meet
us in the drawing-room if you could not possibly be
ready for dinner. But you were gone.’

‘ And you sat down in that chair, didn’t you, darling,
and remained there a long time musing ! ’ he thought.
But that he did not say.

‘ I am very sorry,’ he murmured.

'Will you make amends by coming to our garden^
party ? I ask you the very first.’

'1 will,’ replied Somerset. To add that it would
give him great pleasure, etc , seemed an absurdly weak
way of expressing his feelings, and he said no more.

' It IS on the nineteenth. Don’t forget the day.’

He met her eyes in such a way that, if she were
woman, she must have seen it to mean as plainly as
words : ' Do I look as if I could forget anything you
say?’

She must, indeed, have understood much more by
this time — the whole of his open secret. But he did
not understand her. History has revealed that a super-
numerary lover or two is rarely considered a disadvan-
tage by a woman, from queen to cottage-girl; and the
thought made him pause.

A LAODICEAN

XIV

When she was gone he went on with the drawing,
not calling in Dare, who remained in the room adjoin-
ing. Presently a servant came and laid a paper on his
table, which Miss Power had sent. It was one of the
morning newspapers, and was folded so that his eye
fell immediately on a letter headed ‘Restoration or
Demolition.’

The letter was professedly written by a dispassionate
person solely in the interests of art. It drew attention
to the circumstance that the ancient and interesting
castle of the De' Stancys had unhappily passed into the
bands of an iconoclast by blood, who, without respect
for the tradition of the county, or any feeling whatever
for history in stone, was about to demolish much, if not
all, that was interesting in that ancient pile, and insert
in its midst a monstrous travesty of some Greek temple.
In the name of all lovers of mediaeval art,' conjured the
simple-minded writer, let something be done to save a
building which, injured and batter^ in the Civil Wars,
was now to be made a complete ruin the freaks of
an irresponsible owner.

Her sending him the paper seemed to imply that
she requirM his opinion on the case ; and in the after-
noon, leaving Dare to measure up a wing according to
directions, be went out in the hope of meeting her,

. 123 ,

QBOROE SOMERSET,

having learnt that she had gone to the village. On
reaching the church he saw her crossing the churchyard
path with her aunt and Miss De Stancy. Somerset
entered the enclosure, and as soon as she saw him she
came across.

< What is to be done ? ’ she asked.

‘ You need not be concerned about such a letter as
that.’

‘ I am concerned.*'

‘ I think it dreadful impertinence/ spoke up Char-
lotte, who had joined them. ‘Can you think who
wrote it, Mr. Somerset ? *

Somerset could not.

‘ Well, what am I to do ? * repeated Paula.

* Just as you would have done before.*

‘That’s what I say,* observed Mrs. Goodman em-
phatically.

‘But I have already altered — I have given up the
Greek court.*

‘O — you had seen the paper this morning before
you looked at my drawing ? ’

‘ I had,’ she answered.

Somerset thought it a forcible illustration of her
natural reticence that she should have abandoned tlie
design without telling him the reason ; but he was glad
she had not done it from mere caprice.

She turned to him and said quietly, ‘I wish ytm
would answer that letter.*

‘ It would be ill-advised,* said Somerset. ‘ Still, if,
after consideration, you wish it much, I will. Mean-
while let me impress upon you again the expediency
of calling in Mr. Havill — to whom, as your &ther*s
architect, expecting this commission, something perhaps
is owed — and getting him to furnish an alternative pl^
to mine, and submitting the choice of desigiA to some
riembm of the Royal Institute of British Architects.
This letter makes it still more advisable than before.*

A LAODICEAN

‘ Very well,^ said Paula reluctantly.

* Let him have all the particulars you have been good
enough to explain to me — so that we start fair in the
competition,'

She looked negligently on the grass. ‘I will tell
the building steward to write them out for him,’ she
said.

♦ The party separated and entered the church by
different doors. Somerset went to a nook of the
building that he had often intended to visit. It was
called the Stancy aisle; and in it stood the tombs of
that family. Somerset examined them: they were
unusually rich and numerous, beginning with cross-
legged knights in hauberks of chain-mail, their ladies
b^de them in wimple and cover-chief, all more or less
coated with the green mould and dirt of ages: and
continuing with others of later date, in fine alabaster,
gilded and coloured, some of them wearing round their
necks the Yorkist collar of suns and roses, the livery of
Edward the Fourth. In scrutinizing the tallest canopy
over these he beheld Paula behind it, as if in coti-
templation of the same objects.

* You came to the church to sketch these monuments,
I suppose, Mr. Somerset ? ’ she asked, as soon as she
saw him.

‘ No. I came to speak to you about the letter.’

She sighed. ’Yes: that letter,’ she said. ’I am
persecuted 1 If I had been one of these it would never
have been written.’ She tapped the alabaster effigy of
a recumbent lady with her pa^ol.

’ They are interesting, are they not ? ’ he said. ’ She
is beautifully preserved. The ^ding is nearly gone,
but beyond th^ she is perfect.’

^She is like Charlotte,’ said Paula. And what was
much like another s^h escaped her lips.

Somerset admitt^ that there was a lesemUance^
while Paula 6xm her forefinger across the marble fkoe
«4

GEORGE SOMEREBT

of the effigy, and at length took otkt her handkerchief,
and began wiping the dust from the hollows of the
features. He looked on, wondering what her sigh had
meant, but guessing that it had been somehow caused
by the sight of these sculptures in connection with the
newspaper writer’s denunciation of her as an irresponsible
outsider. e

The secret was out when in answer to his question,
idly put, if she wished she were hke one of these,
she said, with exceptional vdhemence for one of her
demeanour —

‘ I don’t wish I was like one of them . I wish I wai
one of them.’

* What — ^you wish you were a De Stancy ? ’ ^

*Yes. It is very^ dreadful to be denounced as -a

barbarian. I want to be romantic and historical.’

* Miss De Stancy seems not to value the privilege/ he
said, looking round at another part of the church where
Charlotte was innocently prattling to Mrs. Goodman,
quite heedless of the tombs of her forefathers.

<If I were one,’ she continued, ‘I should come here
when I fed alone in the world, as I do to-day; and I
would defy people, and say, “You cannot spoil what
has been ! ” ’

They walked on till they reached the old black pew
attached to the castle — a vast square enclosure of oak
panelling occupying half the aisle, and surmounted with
a little balustrade above the framework. Within, the
baize lining that had once been green, now faded to thd
colour of a common in August, was «fom, kicked and
scraped to rags by the feet and hands of the ploughboys
who had appropriated the pew as their own specU
place of worship since it had ceased to be used by any '
resideiiit at the castl^ because its height afforded con#
venient shelter for playing at marbles and pridUng with

PUAS, ^

Charlotte and Mrs. Goodman had tqr tide mm left
las

A LAODICEAN

the building, and could be seen looking at the head<
stones outside.

* If you were a De Stancy/ said Somerset, who had
pondered more deeply upon that new wish of hers than
he had seemed to do, ‘ you would be a churchwoman,
and sit here.'

*And 1 should have the pew done up,’ she said
readily, as she rested her pretty chin on the top rail
and looked at the interior, her cheeks pressed into deep
dimples. Her quick reply told him that the idea was
no new one with her, and he thought of poor Mr.
Woodwell’s shrewd prophecy as he perceived that her
days as a separatist were numbered.

‘ Well, why can’t you have it done up, and sit here ? ’
he said warily.

Paula shook her head.

* You are not at enmity with Anglicanism, I am sure ? ’

‘ I want not to be. I want to be — what ’

. ‘What the De Stancys were, and are,’ he said
insidiously ; and her silenced bearing told him that he
had hit the nail.

It was a strange idea to get possession of such a
nature as hers, and for a minute he felt himself on the
side of the minister. So strong was Somerset’s feeling
of wishing her to show the quality of fidelity to paternal
dogma and party, that he could not help adding —

‘But have you forgotten that other nobility — the
nobility of talent and enterprise ? ’

‘No. But I wish I had ^ well-known line of
ancestors.’

‘ You have. Archimedes, Newcomen, Watt, Telford,
Stephenson, those are your father’s direct ancestors.
Have you forgotten them ? Have you forgotten your
father, and the railways he made over }ialf EuropI, and
his great energy and skill, and all connected wilh him
as if he had never lived? ’

She did not answer fer some time. ‘ No, I have not

i 126

GEORGE SOMERSET

forgotten it,’ she said, still looking into the pew. < But,

I have a predilection d* artiste for ancestors of the other
sort, like the De Stancys.’

Her hand was resting on .the low pew next the high
one of the De Stancys. Somerset looked at the hand,
or rather at the glove which covered it| then at her
averted cheek, then beyond it jpto the pew, then at her
hand again, until by an indescnbable consciousness that
he was not going too &r he laid his own upon it. ^

‘ No, no,* said Paula quickly, withdrawing her hand.
But there was nothing resentful or haughty in her tone
— nothing, in short, which makes a man in such cir-
cumstances feel that he has done a particularly foolish
action.

The flower on her bosom rose and fell somewhat
more than usual as she added, ‘ I am going away now
— 1 will leave you here.* Without waiting for a reply
she adroitly swept back her skirts to free her feet and
went out of the church blushing.

Somerset took her hint and did not follow; and
when he knew that she had rejoined hei friends, and
heard the carriage roll away, he made towards the
opposite door. Pausing to glance once more at the
alabaster effigies before leaving them to their silence
and neglect, he beheld Dare bending over them, to all
appearance intently occupied.

He must have been in the church some time —
certainly during the tender episode between Somerset
and Paula, and could not have failed to perceive it.
Somerset blushed : it was unpleasant that Dare should
have seen the interior of his heart so plainly. He went
across and said, * I think I left you to finish the drawing
of the north wing, Mr. Dare?’

‘ T]|fe|e hours ago, sir,’ said Dare. * Having finished
that, 1 came to look at the church — fine building^^fine
monuments-^two intmsdng people looking at them*’

‘What?’ ^

137

A LAODICBAN

' I stand corrected. Pensa molio^ parla poeo^ as
Italians have it/

< Well, now, Mr. Dare, suppose you get back to the
castle?*

‘ Which history dubs Castle Stancy. . . . Certainly/

‘ How do you get on with the measuring ? *

Dare sighed whimsi(|dly. ‘Badly in the morning,
when I have been temped to indulge overnight, and
worse in the afternoon, when I have been tempted in
the morning ! ’

Somerset looked at the youth, and said, ‘I fear I
shall have to dispense with your services, Dare, for I
think you have b^n tempted to-day/

‘ On my honour no. My manner is a little against
me, Mr. Somerset. But you need not fear for my ability
to do your work. I am a young man wasted, and am
thought of slight account : it is the true men who get
snubbed, while traitors are allowed to thrive 1 *

‘ Hang sentiment, Dare, and off with you ! ’ A little
ruffled, Somerset had turned his back upon the interest-
ing speaker, so that he did not observe the sly twist
Dare threw into his right eye as he spoke. The latter
went off in one direction and Somerset in the other,
pursuing his pensive way towards Markton with thoughts
not difficult to divine.

From one point in her nature he went to another,
till he again recurred to her romantic interest in the De
Stancy family. To wish she was one of them : how very
inconsistent of her. That she really did wish it was
unquestionable

aEOROB MliBRSBT

XV

It was the day of the garden-party. The weather was
too cloudy to called perfect, but it was as sultry as
the most thinly-clad young lady could desire. Great
trouble had been taken by Paula to bring the 4wn to
a fit condition after the neglect of recent years* and
Somerset had suggested the design for the tents. As
he approached the precincts of the castle he discerned
a flag of newest fabric floating over the keep, and soon
his fly fell in with the stream of carriages that were
passing over the bridge into the outer ward,

Mrs. Goodman and Paula were receiving the people
in the drawing-room. Somerset came forward in his
turn; but as he was immediately followed by others
there was not much opportunity, even had she felt the
wish, for any special mark of feeling in the younger
lady’s greeting of him.

He went on through a canvas passage, lined on each
side with flowering plants, till he reached the tents;
thence, after nod^ng to one or two guests slightly
known to him, he proceeded to the grounds, with a
sense of being rather lonely. Few visitors had as yet
got so far in, and as he w^ked up and down a shady
alley his mind dwelt upon the new aspect under which
Paula had greeted his eyes that afternoon. Her black-
and-white costume had finally disappeared, ^d in its

A LAODICEAN

place she had adopted a picturesque dress of ivory white,
with satin enrichments of dthe same hue; while upon
her bosom she wore a blue flower. Her days of in>
festivity were plainly ended, and her days of gladness
were to begin.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of his name,
and looking round he beheld Havill, who appeared to
be as much alone as hiin«»elf.

Somerset already knew that Havill had been ap-
pointed to compete with him, according to his recom-
mendation. In measuring a dark corner a day or two
before, he had stumbled upon Havill engaged in the
same pursuit with a view to the rival design. Afterwards
he had seen him receiving Paula’s instructions precisely
as he had done himself. It was as he had wished, for
fairness’ sake : and yet he felt a regret, for he was less
Paula’s own architect now.

‘Well, Mr. Somerset,’ said Havill, ‘since we first
met an unexpected rivalry has arisen between us ’ But
I dare say we shall survive the contest, as it is not one
arising out of lo\e. Ha-ha ha I’ He spoke in a level
voice of fierce pleasantry, and uncovered his regular
white teeth.

Somerset supposed him to allude to the castle com-
petition ?

‘Yes,’ said Havill. ‘Her proposed undertaking
brought out some adverse criticism till h was known
that she intended to have more than one architectural
opinion. An excellent stroke of hers to disarm criti-
cism. You saw the second letter in the morning
papers ? ’

‘ No,’ said the other.

‘The writer states that he has discovered that the
competent advice of two architects is to be taken, and
withdraws his accusations.’

Somerset said nothing for a minute. ‘ Have you been
supplied with the necessary data for your drawings ? ’ he
130

GEORGE SOMERSET

asked, showing by the question the track his thoughts
had taken.

Havill said that he had. * But possibly not so com-
pletely as you have/ he added» a^n smiling ficfoely.
Somerset did not quite like the insinuation, and the
two speakers parted, the younger going towards the
musicians, who had now be^n to fill the air with their
strains from the embower^ enclosure of a drooping
ash. When he got back to the marquees they were
quite crowded, and the guests b^an to pour out
upon the grass, the toilets of the ladies presenting a
brilliant spectarle~here being coloured dresses with
white devices, there white dresses with coloured devices,
and yonder transparent dresses with no device at all.
A lavender haze hung in the air, the trees vretA as still
as those of a submarine forest; while the sun, in colour
like a brass plaque, had a hairy outline in the livid sky.

After watching awlnle some young people who were
so madly devoted to lawn-tennis that they set about it
like (lay-Ulx)urers at the moment of their arrival, he
turned and saw approaching a graceful figure in cream-
coloured hues, whose gloves lost themselves beneath
her lace ruffles, even when she lifted her hand to make
firm the blue flower at her breast, and whose hair hung
under her hat in great knots so well compacted that the
sun gilded the convexity of each knot like a ball.

* You seem to be alone,^ said Paula, who had at last
escaped from the duty of receiving guests.

‘ I don’t know many people/

‘ Yes : I thought of that while I was in the drawing-
room. But I could not get out before. I am now no
longer a responsible being: Mrs. Goodman is mistress
for the remainder of the day. Will you be introduced
to anybody ? Whom would you like to know ? *

* I am not particularly unhappy in my solitude/

‘ But you must be made to know a few/

* Very well — I submit readily.'

JZi

A LAODICEAN

She looked away from him, and while he was
observing upon her cheek the moving shadow of leaves
cast by the declining sun, she said, *0, there is my
aunt,’ and beckoned with her parasol to that lady,
who approached in the comparatively youthful guise of
a grey silk dress that whistled at every touch.

Paula left them together, and Mrs. Goodman then
made him acquainted with a few of the best people,
describing what they were in a whisper before they
came up, among them being the Radical member for
Markton, who had succeeded to the seat rendered
vacant by the death of Paula’s father. While talking
to this gentleman on the proposed enlargement of the
castle, Somerset raised his eyes and hand towards the
walls, the better to point out his meaning ; in so* doing
he saw a face in the square of darkness formed by one
of the open windows, the effect being that of a high-
light portrait by Vandyck or Rembrandt.

Tt was his assistant Dare, leaning on the window-sill
of the studio, as he smoked his cigarette and surveyed
the gay groups promenading beneath.

After holding a chattering conversation with some
ladies from a neighbouring country seat who had known
his father in bygone years, and handing them ices and
strawberries till they were satisfied, he found an oppor-
tunity of leaving the grounds, wishing to learn what
progress Dare had made in the survey of the castle.

Dare was still in the studio when he entered.
Somerset informed the youth that there was no neces-
sity for his working later that day, unless to please
himsdf, and proceeded to inspect Dare’s achievements
thus &r. To his vexation Dare had not plotted three
dimensions during the previous two days. This was
not the first time that Darc^ either from incompetence
or indolence, bad shown his inutility as a house-surveyor
and draughtsman.

‘Mr. Dare,* said Somerset, fear you don’t suit
13a

GEORGE SOMERSET

me well enough to make it necessary that you should
stay after this week.*

Dare removed the dgarette from his lips and bowed.
« If I don’t suit, the sooner I go the better ; why wait
the week ? ’ he said.

‘ Well, that’s as you like.*

Somerset drew the inkstand towards him, wrote
out a cheque for Dare’s services, and handed it across
the table.

* I’ll not trouble you to*morrow,’ said Dare, seeing
that the payment included the week in advance.

‘Very well,* replied Somerset. ‘Please lock the
door when you leave.’ Shaking hands with Dare and
wishing him well, he left the room and descended to
the lawn below.

There he contrived to get near Miss Power again,
and inquired of her for Miss De Stancy.

*0! did you not know?’ said Paula; ‘her father
is unwell, and she preferred staying with him this
afternoon.’

‘ I hoped he might have been here.’

‘O no; he never comes out of his house to any
party of this sort; it excites him, and he must not
be excited.*

‘ Poor Sir William ! ’ muttered Somerset.

‘ No,’ said Paula, ‘ he is grand and historical’

‘ That is hardly an orthodox notion for a Puritan,’
said Somerset mis^evously.

‘ I am not a Puritan,’ insisted Paula.

The day turned to dusk, and the guests began going
in relays to the dining-hall When Somerset had taken
in two or three ladies to whom he had been presented,
and attended to their wants, which occupied him three-
quarters of an hour, he returned again to the large tent,
with a view to finding Paula and taking his leave. It
was^ now brilliantly ,%hted up, and the musidans, who
during daylight had been mvisiUe behind the as^tiee,

A LAODICEAN

were ensconced at one end with their harps and violins.
It reminded him that there was to be dancing. The
tent had in the meantime half filled with a new set of
young people who had come expressly for that pastime.
Behind the girls gathered numbers of newly arrived
young men with low shoulders and diminutive mous-
taches, who were evidently prepared for once to sacrifice
themselves as partners.

* Somerset felt something of a thrill at the sight.
He was an infrequent dancer, and particularly unpre-
pared for dancing at present ; but to dance once with
Paula Power he would give a year of his life. He
looked round ; but she was nowhere to be seen. The
first set began ; old and middle-aged people gathered
from the different rooms to look on at the gyrations
of their children, but Paula did not appear. When
another dance or two had progressed, and an increase
in the average age of the dancers was making itself per-
ceptible, especially on the masculine side, Somerset was
aroused by a whisper at his elbow —

‘ You dance, I think ? Miss Deverell is disengaged.
She has not been asked once this evening.’ The
speaker was Paula.

Somerset looked at Miss Deverell — a sallow lady
with black twinkling eyes, yellow costume, and gay
laugh, who had been there all the afternoon — and said
something about having thought of going home.

‘Is that because I asked you to dance she
murmured. ‘There — she is appropriated.’ A young
gentleman had at that moment approached the unin-
viting Miss Deverell, claimed her hand and led her off.

‘That’s right,’ said Somerset. ‘I ought to leave
room for younger men.’

‘You need not say so. That bald-headed gentleman
is forty-five. He does not think of younger men.’

‘ Have yim a dafice to spare for me ? ’

Her face grew stealthily redder in the candle-light.

134

GEORGE SOMERSET

‘01 — I have no engagement at all — have refused.

I hardly feel at liberty to dance ; it would be as well
to leave that to my visitors.*

‘Why?*

‘My father, though he allowed me to be taught,
never liked the idea of my dancing.*

‘ Did he make you promise anything on the point ? *

‘ He said he was not in favour of such amuscmente
— no more.* •

‘ I think you are not bound by that, on an informal
occasion like the present.*

She was silent.

* You will just once ? * said he.

Another silence. ‘If you like,* she venturesomely
answered at last.

Somerset closed the hand which was hanging byvl^s
side, and somehow hers was in it. The dance ^as
nearly formed, and he led her forward. Several persons
looked at them significantly, but he did not notice it
then, and plunged into the maze.

Never had Mr. Somerset passed through such an
experience before. Had he not felt her actual weight
and warmth, he might have fancied the whole episode
a figment of the imagination. It seemed as if those
musicians had thrown a double sweetness into their
notes on seeing the mistress of the castle in the dance,
that a perfumed southern atmosphere had begun to
pervade the marquee, and that human beings were
shaking themselves free of all inconvenient gravitation.

Somerset’s feelings burst from lus lips. ‘ This is the
happiest moment I have ever^ known,* he said. ‘Do
you know why ? '

‘ I think I saw a flash of lightning through the open-
ing of the tent,* said Paula, with roguish abruptness.

He did not press for an answer. Within a few
minutes a long growl of thunder was heard. It was
as if Jove could not refrain from testifying his jealousy

135

A LAODICEAN

of Somerset for taking this coveUble woman so pre-
sumptuously in his arms.

The dance was over, and he had retired with Paula
to the back of the tent, when another faint flash of
lightning was visible through an opening. She lifted
the canvas, and looked out, Somerset looking out
behind her. Another dance was begun, and being

t this account left out of notice, Somerset did not
ten to leave Paula’s side.

‘ 1 think they begin to feel the heat,’ she said.

* A little ventilation would do no harm.’ He flung
back the tent door where he stood, and the light shone
out upon the grass.

* I must go to the drawing-room soon,’ she added.

* They will begin to leave shortiy.*

'It is not late. The thunder-cloud has made it
seem dark — see there ; a line of pale yellow stretches
along the horizon from west to north. That’s evening
— not gone yet. Shall we go into the fresh air for a
minute ? ’

She seemed to signify assent, and he stepped off
the ient-floor upon the ground. She stepped off also.

The air out-of-doors had not cooled, and without
definitely choosing a direction they found themselves
approaching a little wooden tea-house that stood on
the lawn a few yards off. Arrived here, they turned,
and regarded the tent they had just left^ and listened
to the strains that came from within it.

* I feel more at ease now,’ said Paula.

' So do I,’ said Somerset*

' I mean,’ she ad^ in an undeceiving tone, ' because
I saw Mrs. Goodman enter the tent again just as we
came out here ; so I have no further responsibility.’

' I m^nt something quite different. Try to guess
what.’

She teasingly demurred, finally breaking the silence
fay saying, <The min is come at last,’ as great drops
136

GEORGE SOMERSET

began to fall upon the ground with a smack) like pdlets
of clay.

In a moment the storm poured down with sudden
violence, and &ey drew further bock into the summer-
house. The side of the tent from whidi they had
emerged still remained open, the rain streaming down
between their eyes and the lighted interior of the
marquee like a tissue of glass threads, the bri|jMt
forms of the dancers passing and repassing behinmbe
\^atery screen, as if they were people in an endianted
submarine palace.

<How happy they are!’ said Paula. ‘They don’t
even know that it is raining. I am so glad that my
aunt had the tent lined; otherwise such a downpour
would have gone clean through it.’

The thunder-storm showed no symptoms of abate-
ment, and the music and dancing went on more merrily
than ever,

‘ We cannot go in,' said Somerset. ‘ And we cannot
shout for umbrellas. We will stay till it is over, will
we not?’

* Yes,’ she said, ‘ if you care to. Ah I ’

‘ What is it ? ’

‘ Only a big drop came upon my head.’

‘ Let us stand further in.’*

Her hand was hanging by her side, and Somerset’s
was close by. He took it, and she did not draw it
away. Thus they stood a long while, the rain hissing
down upon the |^ss-plot, and not a soul being visible
outside the dancing-tent save themselves.

‘ May I call you Paula ? ’ asked be.

There was no answer.

‘ May I ? ’ he repeated.

‘ Yes, occasionally,’ she murmured.

‘ Dear Paula ! — may I obU you that ? ’

‘ O no — not yet.’

* But you know I love you ? ’

137

A LAODICEAN

‘Yes/ she whispered.

* And shall I love you always ?

* If you wish to.’

‘ And will you love me ? ’

Paula did not reply.

* Will you, Paula ? ’ he repeated.

‘ You may love me.*

‘ But don’t you love me in return ? ’

I love you to love me.’

‘ Won’t you say anything more explicit ? ’

‘ I would rather not.*

Somerset emitted half a sigh : he wished she had
been more demonstrative, yet felt that this passive way
of assenting was as much as he could hope for. Had
there been anything cold in her passivity he might have
felt repressed ; but her stillness suggested the stillness
of motion imperceptible from its intensity.

*We must go in,’ said she. ‘The rain is almost
over, and there is no longer any excuse for this.’

Somerset bent his lips toward hers.

‘ No,’ said the fair Puritan decisively.

‘ Why not ? ’ he asked.

‘ Nobody ever has.’

‘ But ! ’ expostulated Somerset.

‘To everything there is a season, and the season
for this is not just now,’ she answered, walking
away.

They crossed the wet and glistening lawn, stepped
under the tent and parted. She vanished, he did not
know whither ; and, standing with his gaze fixed on the
dancers, the young man waited, till, being in no mood
to join them, he went slowly through the artificial
passage lined with flowers, and entered tlie dra\ving-
room. Mrs. Goodman was there, bidding good-night
to the early goers, and Paula was just behind Her,
apparently in her usual mood. His parting with tier
was quite foruudi but that he did not mind, for her
138

GEORGE SOMERSET

colour rose decidedly higher as he approached, and the
light in her eyes was like the ray of a diamond.

When he reached the door he found that his brougham
from the Quantock Arms, which had been waiting more
than an hour, could not be heard of. That vagrancy
of spirit which love induces would not permit him to
wait; and, leaving word that the man was to follow him
when he returned, he went past the glare of carriage-
lamps ranked in the ward, and under the outer ar^.
The night was now clear and beautiful, and he strolled
along his way full of mysterious elation till the vehicle
overtook him, and he got in.

Up to this point Somerset’s progress in his suit had
been, though incomplete, so uninterrupted, that he
almost feared the good chance he enjoyed. How
should it be in a mortal of his calibre to command
success with such a sweet woman for long? He might,
indeed, turn out to be one of the singular exceptions
which are said to prove rules , but when fortune means
to men most good, observes the bard, she looks upon
them with a threatening eye. Somerset would even
have been content that a little disapproval of his course
should have occurred in some quarter, so as to make
his wooing more like ordinary life. But Paula was not
clearly won, and that was drawback sufficient. In these
pleasing agonies and painful delights he passed the
journey to Marktoa

BOOK THE SECOND

DARE AND HA VILL

DARE AND HAVILL

POOK^ THE SECOND
DARE AND HAVILL

I

Y^OUNG Dare sat thoughtfully at the wndow of the
studio in which Somerset had left him, till the gay
scene beneath became embrowned by the twilight, and
the brilliant red stripes of the marquees, the bright sun-
shades, the many-tinted costumes of the ladies, were
indistinguishable from the blacks and greys of the
masculine contingent moving among them. He had
occasionally glanced away from the outward prospect
to study a small old \olume that lay before him on the
drawing-board. Near scrutiny revealed the book to
bear the title ‘ Moivre’s Doctrine of Chances.*

The evening had been so still that Dare had heard
conversations from below with a clearness unsuspected
by the speakers themselves; and among the dialogues
which thus reached his ears was that between Somerset
and Havill on their professional rivalry. When they
parted, and Somerset had mingled with the throng,
Havill went to a seat at a distance. Afterwards he
rose, and walked away; but on the bench he had
quitted there remained a small object resembling a
book or leather case.

Dare put away the drawing-board and plotting-scales

143

A LAODICBAN

which he had kept before him during the evening as a
reason for his presence at that post of espial, locked up
the door, and went downstairs. Notwithstanding his
dismissal by Somerset, he was so serene in countenance
and easy in gait as to make it a fair conjecture that pro-
fessional servitude, however profitable, was no necessity
with him. The gloom now rendered it practicable for
any unbidden guest to join Paula’s assemblage without
criticism, and Dare walked boldly out upon the lawn.
The crowd on the grass was rapidly diminishing; the
tennis-players had relinquished sport ; many people had
gone in to dinner or supper ; and many others, attracted
by the cheerful radiance of the candles, were gather-
ing in the large tent that had been lighted up for
dancing.

Dare went to the garden-chair on which Havill had
been seated, and found the article left behind to be a
pocket-book. Whether because it was unclasped and
fell open in his hand, or otherwise, he did not hesitate to
examine the contents. Among a mass of architect’s
customary memoranda occurred a draft of the letter
abusing Paula as an iconoclast or Vandal by blood,
which had appeared in the newspaper: the draft was, so
interlined and altered as to bear evidence of being the
original conception of that ungentlemanly attack.

The lad read the letter, smiled, and strolled about
the grounds, only met by an occasional pair of indi-
viduals of opposite sex in deep conversation, the state
of whose emotions led them to prefer the evening shade
to the publicity and glare of the tents and rooms. At
last he observed the white waistcoat of the man he
sought.

<Mr. Havill, the architect, 1 believe?’ said Dare.
‘The author of most of the notewcnthy buildings in this
neighbourhood ? ’

Haiidll assented blandly.

‘ I have long wished for the pleasure of your acquaint-
^44

DAHB AND HAVILL

ance, and now an accident bdps me to make it. This
pocket-book, I think, is yours ? '

Havill clapped his hand to his podket,* eseamined the
book Dale held out to him, arid took it with thanks.
< 1 see I am speaking to the artist, archssologist, Gothic
photographer — Mr. Dare.'

* Professor Dare.'

< Professor? Pardon me, I should not have guessed
it — ^so young as you arc.*

< Well, it is merely ornamental ; and in truth, I drop
the title in England, particularly under present circum-
stances.’

* Ah — they are peculiar, perhaps ? Ah, I remember.

I have heard that you are assisting a gentleman in pre-
paring a design in opposition to mine — a design -*

‘ “ That he is not competent to prepare himself,” y6u
were perhaps going to add ? ’

* Not precisely that.’

< You could hardly be blamed for such words. How-
ever, you are mistaken. I did assist him to gain a little
further insight into the working of architectural plans ;
but our views on art are antagonistic, and I assist him
no more. Mr. Havill, it must be very provoking to a
well-established professional man to have a rival sprung
at him in a grand undertaking which he had a right to
expect as his own.’

Professional sympathy is often accepted fix>m those
whose condolence on any domestic matter would be
consider^ intrusive. Havill walked up and down
beside Dare for a few moments in silence, and at last
showed that the words had told, by saying : * Every one
may have his opinion. Had I \xen a stranger to the
Power family, the case would have been different ; but
having been specially elected by the lady’s father as a
competent adviser in such matters, and then to be de»
graded to the position of a mere competitor, it wounds
me to the qui<^—

A LAODICEAN

* Both in purse and in person, like the ill-used hostess
of the Garter/

‘A lady to whom I have been a staunch friend/
continued Havill, not heeding the interruption.

At that moment sounds seemed to come from Dare
which bore a remarkable resemblance to the words, * Ho,
ho, Havill I * It was hardly credible, and yet, could he
be mistaken ? Havill turned. Dare^s eye was twisted
comically upward.

‘ What does that mean ? ’ said Havill coldly, and with
some amazement.

‘Ho, ho, Havill! “Staunch friend” is good —
especially after “an iconoclast and Vandal by blood” —
“ monstrosity in the form of a Greek temple,” and so on,
eh 1 *

‘Sir, you have the advantage of me. Perhaps you
allude to that anonymous letter ? *

‘ O — ho, Havill 1 * repeated the boy-man, turning his
eyes yet further towards the -zenith. ‘ To an outsider
such conduct would be natural; but to a friend who
finds your pocket-book, and looks into it before return-
ing it, and kindly removes a leaf bearing the draft of a
letter which might injure you if discovered there, and
carefully conceals it in his own pocket — why, such con-
duct is unkind I ’ Dare held up the abstracted leaf.

Havill trembled. ‘ I can explain,* he began.

‘It is not necessary: we are fnends,’ said Dare
assuringly.

Havill looked as if he would like to snatch the leaf
away, but altering his mind, he said grimly: 'Well, I
take you at your word: we are friends. That letter
was concocted before I knew of the competition ; it was
during my first disgust, when I believed myself entirely
supplanted.*

‘ I am not in the least surprised. But if she knew
you to be the writer ! *

‘I should be mined as far as this competition
146

DARE AND HAVILL

concerned,’ said Havill carelessly. ‘Had I known I

to be invited to compete, 1 should not have written
it, of course. To be supplanted is hard ; and thereby
liangs a tale.’

‘ Another tale ? You astonish me.’

'Then you have not heard the scandal, though
everybody is talking about it.’

‘ A scandal impUes indecorum.’

' Well, ’tis indecorous. Her infatuated partiality for
him is patent to the eyes of a child; a man she has
only known a few weeks, and one who obtained admis-
sion to her house in the most irregular manner ! Had
she a watchful friend beside her, instead of that moon-
struck Mrs. Goodman, she would be cautioned against
bestowing her favours on the first adventurer who
appears at her door. It is a pity, a great pity ! ’

‘O, there is love-making in the wind^’ said Dare
slowly. ‘That alters the case for me. But it is not
proved ? ’

‘ It can easily be proved.’

‘ I wish it were, or disproved.’

‘You have only to come this way to clear up all
doubts.’

Havill took the lad towards the tent, from which the
strains of a waltz now proceeded, and on whose sides
flitting shadows told of the progress of the dance. The
companions looked in. The rosy silk lining of the
marquee, and the numerous coronas of wax lights,
formed a canopy to a radiant scene which, for two at
least of those who composed it, was an intoxicating one.
Paula and Somerset were dancing together.

‘ That proves nothing,’ said Dare.

‘Look at their rapt faces, and say if it does not,
sneered Havill.

Dare objected to a judgment based on looks alone.

‘Very well — time will show,’ said the architect,
dropping the tent-curtain. . . . Good God! a girl

147

A LAODICEAN

worth fifty thousand and more a year to throw herself
away upon a fellow like that — stie ought to be whipped.’

‘ Time must not show ! ^ said Dare.

< You speak with emphasis.’

‘ I have reason. I would give something to be sure
on this point, one way or the other. Let us wait till
the dance is over, and observe them more carefully.
Horensagen ist halb geiogen I Hearsay is half lies.’

Sheet-lightnings increased in the northern sky,
followed by thunder like the indistinct noise of a
battle. Havill and Dare retired to the trees. When
the dance ended Somerset and his partner emerged
from the tent, and slowly moved towards the tea-house.
Divining their goal Dare seized Havill’s arm; and the
two worthies entered the building unseen, by first
passing round behind it. They seated themselves in
the back part of the interior, where darkness prevailed.

As before related, Paula and Somerset came and
stood within the door. When the rain increased they
drew themselves further inward, their forms being
distinctly outlined to the^we of those lurking behind
by the light from the tent wyond. But the hiss of the
falling rain and the lowness of their tones prevented
their words from being heard.

* I wish myself out of this 1 ’ breathed Havill to Dare,
as he buttoned his coat over his white waistcoat. ‘I
told you it was true, but you wouldn’t believe. I
wouldn’t she should catch me here eavesdropping for
the world I ’

* Courage, Man Friday,’ said his cooler comrade.

Paula and her lover ^cked yet further, till the hem

of her skirt touched Havill’s feet. Their attitudes were
sufficient to prove their relations to the most obstinate
Didymus who should have witnessed them. Tender
emotions seemed to pervade ffie summer-house like
an aroma. The calm ecstasy of the condition of at
least one of them was not without a coercive eflect upoif
148

DARE AND HAVILL

the two invidious spectatorsi so that they must need
have remained passive had they come there to dis-
turb or annoy. The serenity of Paula was even more
impressive than the hushed ardour of Somerset: she
did not satisfy curiosity as Somerset satisfied it; she
piqued it. Poor Somerset had reached a perfectly
intelligible depth — one which had a single bl&sful way
out of it, and nine calamitous ones ; but Paula remained
an enigma all through the scene.

The rain ceased, and the pair moved away. The
enchantment worked their presence vanished, the
details of the meeting settled down in the watchers'
minds, and their tongues were loosened. Dare, turning
to Havill, said, ‘ Thank you ; you have done me a timely
turn to-day.'

‘Whatl had you hopes that way?' asked Havill
satirically.

‘ I ! The woman that interests my heart has yet to
1)6 born,' said Dare, with a steely coldness strange in
buch a juvenile, and yet almo^ convincing. ‘ But though
1 have not personal hopes, |f have an objection to this
courtship. Now I think we may as well fraternize, the
situation being what it is?'

‘ What is the situation ? '

‘ He is in your way as her architect ; he is in my way
as her lover : we don't want to hurt him, but we wish
him clean out of the neighbourhood.'

‘ I'll go as far as that,' said Havill.

‘ I have come here at some trouble to mysdf, meiAy
to observe : I find I ought to stay to act.'

‘If you were myself, a married man with people
dependent on him, who has had a professional certainty
turned to a miserably remote contingency by these
events, you might say you ought to act; but what con-
ceivable difference it can make to you who it is the
young lady takes to her heart and home, I foil to under-
stand.'

149

A LAODICEAN

‘ Well, I’ll tell you — this much at least. 1 want to
keep the place vacant for another man.’

‘ The place ? ’

* The place of husband to Miss Power, and proprietor
of that castle and domain.’

‘That’s a scheme with a vengeance. Who is the
man?’

‘ It is my secret at present.’

‘ Certainly.’ Havill drew a deep breath, and dropped
into a tone of depression. ‘ Well, scheme as you will,
there will be small advantage to me,’ he murmured.
‘ The castle commission is as good as gone, and a bill
for two hundred pounds falls due next week ’

‘ Cheer up, heart > My position, if you only knew
it, has ten times the difficulties of yours, since this
disagreeable discovery. Let us consider if we can assist
each other. The competition drawings are to be sent
in — when ? ’

‘ In something over six weeks— a fortnight before she
returns from the Scilly Isles, for which place she leaves
here in a few days.’

‘ O, she goes away — that’s better. Our lover will be
working here at his drawings, and she not present.’

‘Exactly. Perhaps she is a little ashamed of the
intimacy.’

‘ And if your design is considered best by the com-
mittee, he will have no further reason for staying,
assuming that they are not definitely engaged to marry
by that time ? ’

‘I suppose so,’ murmured Havill discontentedly.
‘ The conditions, as sent to me, state that the designs
are to be adjudicated on by three members of the
Institute called in for the purpose; so that she may
return, and have seemed to show no favour.’

‘ Then it amounts to this : your design must be best.
It must combine the excellences of your invention with
the excellences of his. Meanwhile a coolness should be
ISO

DARE AND HAVILL

made to arise between her and him : and as there would
be no artistic reason for his presence here after the
verdict is pronounced, he would perforce hie back to
town. Do you see?’

* I see the ingenuity of the plan, but I also see two
insurmountable obstacles to it. The first is, I cannot
add the excellences of his design to mine without know-
ing what those excellences are, which he will of course
keep a secret. Second, it will not be easy to promote a
coolness between such hot ones as they.*

‘You make a mistake. It is only he who is so
ardent. She is only lukewarm. If we had any spirit, a
bargain would be struck between us : you would appro-
priate his design ; I should cause the coolness.’

‘ How could I appropriate his design ? *

‘ By copying it, I suppose.*

‘ Copying it ? *

‘ By going into his studio and looking it over.*

Havill turned to Dare, and stared. ‘ By George, you
don’t stick at trifles, young man. You don’t suppose I
would go into a man’s rooms and steal his inventions
like that ? ’

‘ I scarcely suppose you would,’ said Dare indiffer-
ently, as he rose.

‘ And if I were to,* said Havill curiously, ‘ how’ is the
coolness to be caused ? ’

‘ By the second man.’

‘ Who is to produce him ? *

‘ Her Majesty’s Government.’

Havill looked meditatively at his companion, and
shook his head. ‘ In these idle suppositions we have
been assuming conduct which would be quite against
my principles as, an honest man.’

A LAODICEAN

II

A FEW days after the party at Stancy Castle, Dare was
walking down the High Street of Markton, cigarette
between his lips and a silver-topped cane in his hand
His eye fell upon a brass plate on an opposite door,
bearing the name of Mr. Havdl, Architect. He crossed
over, and rang the office bell.

The clerk who admitted him stated that Mr. Havill
was in his private room, and would be disengaged in a
short time. While Dare waited the derk affixed to the
door a piece of paper bearing the words ' Back at 2,’
and went away to his dinner, leaving Dare in the room
alone.

Dare looked at the different drawings on the boards
about the room. They all represented one subject,
which, though unfinished as yet, and bearing no inscrip-
tion, was recognized by the visitor as the design for the
enlargement and restoration of Stancy Castle. When
he h^ glanced it over Dare sat down.

The doors between the office and private room were
double; but the one towards the office bdng only ajar
Dare could hear a conversation in progress within. It
presently rose to an altercation, the tenor of which was
obnous. Somebody had come for money.

* Really I can stand it no longer, Mr. Havill — really
I will not ! * said the creditor eedtefly. * Now this b(U
iSa

P4RB and HAVILL

overdue again — ^what can you expect? Why, 1 might
have negotiated where would you have b^n

then ? Instead W that^ I have locked it up out of
consideration for you ; and what do I get for my
considerateness ? 1 shall let the law take its course 1 ’
‘You’ll do me inexpressible harm, and get nothing
whatever,* said Havill. ‘ If you would renew for another
three months there would be no difficulty in the matter.’
* You have Said so before : I will do no such thing.*
There was a silence; whereupon Dare arose without
hesitation, and walked boldly into the private office.
Havill was standing at one end, as gloomy as a thunder-
cloud, and at the other was the unfortunate creditor
with his hat on. Though Dare’s entry surprised them,
both parties seemed relieved.

‘ I have called in passing to congratulate you, Mr.
Havill,* said Dare gaily. ‘ Such a commission as has
been entrusted to you will make you famous I *

‘ How do you do ? — I wish it would make me rich,’
said Havill drily.

‘ It will be a lift in that direction, from what I know
of the profession. What is she going to spend ? *

‘ A hundred thousand.*

‘ Your commission as ^hitect, five thousand. Not
bad, for making a few sketches. Consider what other
great commissions such a work will lead to.*

‘ What great work is this ? * asked the creditor.

‘ Stancy Castle,* said Dare, since Havill seemed too
agape to answer. ‘You have not heard of it, then?
Those are the drawings, I presume, in the next room ? *
Havill replied in the affirmative, beginning to per*
ceive the manoeuvre. * Perhaps you would like to see
tliem ? * he said to the creditor.

The latter offered no objection, and all three went
into the drawing-office.

■^It will certainly P'be a magnificent stnictnxe^’ said
the creditor, after regarding the devations tWngh his
Hi

A LAODICEAN

spectacles. * Stancy Castle : I had no idea of it ! and
when do you begin to build, Mr. Havill ? ’ he inquired
in mollified tones.

‘ In three months, 1 think ? ’ said Dare, looking to
Havill.

Havill assented.

‘ Five thousand pounds commission,’ murmured the
creditor. ' Paid down, I suppose ? *

Havill nodded.

‘ And the works will not linger for lack of money to
carry them out, I imagine,’ said Dare. ‘ Two hundred
thousand will probably be spent l)efore the work is
finished.’

‘ There is not much doubt of it,’ said Havill,

‘You said nothing to me about this?’ whispered
the creditor to Havill, taking him aside, with a look
of r^ret.

‘ You would not listen ! ’

‘It alters the case greatly.’ The creditor retired
with Havill to the door, and after a subdued colloquy
in the passage he went away, Havill returning to the
office.

‘ What the devil do you mean by hoaxing him like
this, when the job is no more mine than Inigo Jones’s?’

‘ Don’t be too curious,’ said Dare, laughing.

‘ Rather thank me for getting rid of him.’

‘ But it is all a vision ! ’ said Havill, ruefully regard-
ing the pencilled towers of Stancy Castle. ‘If the
competition were really the commission that > ou have
represented it to be there might be something to
laugh at.’

‘ It must be made a commission, somehow,’ returnecT
Dare carelessly. ‘ I am come to lend you a little assist-
ance. I must stay in the neighbourhood, and I have
nothing dse to do.’

A carriage slowly passed the \vindow, and Havill
recognized the Power liveries. ‘Hullo — she’s coming

154

DARE AND HAVILL

here ! ’ he said under his breath, as the carriage stopped
by the kerb. * What does she want, I wonder? Dare,
does she know you ? *

‘ I would just as soon be out of the way.'

* Then go into the garden.'

Dare went out through the back office as Paula was
shown in at the front. She wore a grey travelling
costume, and seemed to be in some haste.

* I am on my way to the railway-station,' she said to
Havill. * 1 shall be absent from home for several weeks,
and since you requested it, I have called to inquire how
you are getting on with the design.'

‘ Please look it over,' said Havill, placing a seat for
her.

‘ No,’ said Paula. ‘ I think it would be unfair. ^ 1

have not looked at Mr. ^the other architect’s plans

since he has begun to design seriously, and I will not
look at yours. Are you getting on quite well, and do
you want to know anything more? If so, go to the
castle, and get anybody to assist you. Why would you
not make use of the room at your disposal in the castle,
as the other architect has done ? ’

In asking the question her face was towards the
window, and suddenly her cheeks became a rosy red.
She instantly looked another way.

‘ Having my own office so near, it was not necessary,
thank you,' replied Havill, as, noting her countenance,
he allowed his glance to stray into the street. Somerset
was walking past on the opposite side.

^ The time is — the time fixed for sending in the draw-
ings is the first of November, I believe,' she sa id con-
‘d’usedly; ‘and the decision will be come to by three
gentlemen who are prominent members of the Institute
of Architects.’

Havill then accompanied her to the carriage, and she
drove away.

Havill went to the back window to tell Dare that he
I5S

A LAODICEAN

need not stay in the garden ; but the garden was empty.
The architect remained alone in his office for some time;
at the end of a quarter of an hour, when the scream
of a railway whistle had echoed down the still street,
he beheld Somerset repasbing the window in a direc-
tion from the railway, with somewhat of a sad gait. In
another minute Dare entered, humming the latest air
of Offenbach.

* Tis a mere piece of duplicity I * said Havill.

‘What is?*

‘ Her pretending indifference as to which of us comes
out successful in the competition, when she colours
carmine the moment Somerset passes by.* He described
Paula’s visit, and the incident.

‘It may not mean Cupid’s Entire XXX after all,’
said Dare judicially. ‘The mere suspicion that a
certain man loves her would make a girl blush at his
unexpected appearance. Well, she’s gone from him for
a time ; the better for you.’

‘ He has been pnvileged to see her off at any rate.’

‘ Not privileged.’

‘ How do you know that ? ’

‘ I went out of your garden by the back gate, and
followed her carriage to the railway. He simply went
to the first bridge outside the station, and waited. Whcii
she was in the train, it moved forward ; he was all ex-
pectation, and drew out his handkerchief ready to wave,
while she looked out of the window towards the bridge.
The train backed before it reached the bridge, to attach
the box containing her horses, and the carriage-trude.
Then it started for good, and when it reached the bridge
she looked out again, he waving his handkerchief to her.’

‘ And she waving hers back ? ’

‘ No, she didn’t’

‘Ahl’

‘ She looked at him — nothing moie. I wouldn’t give
much for his c^iance.’ After a while Dare added

DARE AND HAVILL

musingly: 'You are a mathematician: did you ever
investigate the doctrine of expectations ? ’

'Never/

Dare drew from his pocket his ' Book of Chances/ a
volume as well thumbed as the minister’s Bible. ' This
is a treatise on the subject/ he said. ' I will teach it
to you some day.’

The same evening Havill asked Dare to dine with
him. He was just at this time living en garfon, his
wife and children being away on a visit. After dinner
they sat on till their faces were rather flushed. The
talk turned, as before, on the castle-competition.

' To know his design is to win,’ said Dare. ' And
to win is to send him back to London where he came
from.’

Havill inquired if Dare had seen any sketch of the
design while with Somerset ?

'Not a line. I was concerned only with the old
building.’

' Not to know it is to lose, undoubtedly,’ murmured
Havill.

'Suppose we go for a walk that way, instead of
consulting here ? ’

They went down the town, and along the highway.
When they reached the entrance to the park a man
driving a basket-carriage came out from the gate and
passed them in the gloom.

‘That was he,* said Dare. 'He sometimes drives
over from the hotel, and sometimes walks. He has
beeh working late this evening.’

Strolling on under the trees they met three masculine
figures, laughing and talking loudly.

'Those ore the three first-ck^s London draughts-
men, Bowles, Knowles, and Cockton, whom he has
engaged to assist him, regardless of expense,’ continued
Dare.

*57

«A LAODICEAN

‘O Lordl’ groaned Havill. ‘There's no diance
for me.*

The castle now arose before them, endowed by the ray-
less shade with a more massive majesty than either sun-
light or moonlight could impart ; and Havill sighed again
as he thought of what he was losing by Somerset's rivdry.
‘ Well, what was the use of coming here ? ’ he asked.

‘I thought it might suggest something — some way
of seeing the design. The servants would let us into
his room, I dare say.*

‘I don’t care to ask. Let us walk through the
wards, and then homeward.*

They sauntered on smoking, Dare leading the way
through the gate-house into a corridor which was not
inclosed, a lamp hanging at the further end.

‘ We are getting into the inhabited part, I think,' said
Havill.

Dare, however, had gone on, and knowing the
tortuous passages from his few days' experience in
measuring them with Somerset, he came to the butler's
pantry. Dare knocked, and nobody answering he en-
tered, took down a key which hung behind the door,
and rejoined Havill. ‘It is all right,’ he said ‘The
cat's away ; and the mice are at play in consequence.'

Proceeding up a stone staircase he unlocked the
door of a room in the dark, struck a light inside, and
returning to the door called in a whisper to Havill, who
)iad remained behind. *This is Mr. Somerset’s studio,’
he said.

‘ How did you get permission ? ' inquired Havill, not
knowing that Dare had seen no one.

‘ Anyhow,’ said Dare carelessly. ‘ We can examine
the plans at leisure; for if the placid Mrs. Goodman,
who is the only one at home, sees the light, she will
only think it is Somerset still at work.’

Dare uncovered the drawings, and young Somerset’s
brain-work for the last six weeks lay under their eyes.

DAKE AND HAVILL

To Dare, who was too cursoiy to trouble himsdf by
entering into such details, it had very little meaning;
but the design shone into Havill’s head Uke a light into
a dark place. It was original; and it was fascinating.
Its originality lay partly in the circumstance that
Somerset had not attempted to adapt an old building
to the wants of the new civiUzation. He had placed
his new erection beside it as a slightly attached structure,
harmonizing with the old; heightening and beautifying,
rather than subduing it. His work formed a palace,
with a ruinous castle annexed as a curiosity. To Havill
the conception had more charm than it could have to
the most appreciative outsider; for when a mediocre
and jealous mind that has been cudgelling itself over
a problem capable of many solutions, lights on die
solution of a rival, all possibilities in that kind seem
to merge in the one beheld.

Dare was struck by the arrested expression of the
architect’s face. < Is it rather good ? ’ he asked.

* Yes, rather,’ said Havill, subduing himself.

‘ More than rather ? ’

* Yes, the clever devil 1 ’ exclaimed Havill, unable to
depreciate longer.

‘How?’

‘The riddle that has worried me three weeks he
has solved in a way which is simplicity itself. He has
got it, and I am undone 1 ’

‘ Nonsense, don’t give way. Let’s make a tracing.’

* The ground-plan will be sufficient,’ said Havill, hA
courage reviving. ‘ The idea is so simple, that if once
seen it is not easily forgotten.’

A rough tracing of Somerset’s design was quickly
made, and blowing out the candle with a wave of his
hand, the younger gentleman locked the door, and they
went downstairs again.

* I should never have thought of it,’ said Havill, as
they walked homeward.

IS9

A LAODICEAN

*One man baa need of anothen^^eveiy ten years:
Ogm died anni un ttotno ha bisogno delt altro^ as they
say in Italy. You’ll help me for this turn if I have
of you ? ’

‘ I shall never have the power.*

* O yes, you will. A man who can contrive to get
admitted to a competition by writing a letter abusing
another man, has any amount of power. The stroke
was a good one.’

Havill was silent till he said, think these gusts
mean that we are to have a storm of rain.’

Dare looked up. The sky was overcast, the trees
shivered, and a drop or two began to strike into the
walkers’ coats from the east. They were not far from
the inn at Sleeping-Green, where Dare had lodgings,
occupying the rooms which had been used by Somerset
till he gave them up for more commodious chambers at
Markton ; and they decided to turn in there till the rain
should be over.

Having possessed himself of Somerset’s brains Havill
was inclined to be jovial, and ordered the best in wines
that the house afforded. Before starting from home
they had drunk as much as was good for them ; so that
their potations here soon began to have a marked effect
upon their tongues. The rain beat upon the windows
with a dull dogged pertinacity which seemed to signify
boundless reserves of the same and long continuance,
^e wind rose, the sign creaked, and the candles wwpl.

weather had, in truth, broken up for the seaiMln,
and this was the hrst night of the change.

* Well, here we are,* said Havill, as he poured out
another glass of the brandied liquor called old port at
Sleeping-Green; *and it seems that here we are to
remain for the present.’

< I am at home anywhere I * cried the lad, whose brow
was hot and ^*wild.

Havill, who had not drtmk enough to ailbct hia
Ido

DARE AND HAVILL

msoniag, bis to the light and said, 4

never can* quite make out what you are, or what your
age is. Are you sixteen, one-and-twenty, or twenty-
seven? And are you an Englishman, Frenchman,
Indian, American, or what? You seem not to have
taken your degrees in these parts.'

‘That's a secret, my friend,' said Dare. ‘I am a
citizen of the world. I owe no country patriotism, and
no king or queen obedience. A man whose country
has no boundary is your only true gentleman.'

‘Well, where were you born — somewhere, I sup-
pose ? '

* It would be a fact worth the telling. The secret
of my birth lies here.' And Dare slapped his breast
with his right hand.

‘ Literally, just under your shirt-front ; or figuratively,
in your heart ? ' asked Havill.

‘Literally there. It is necessary that it should be
recorded, for one's own memory is a treacherous book
of reference, should verification be required at a time of
delirium, disease, or death.'

Havill asked no further what he meant, and went
to the door. Finding that the rain still continued he
returned to Dare, who was by this time sinking down
in a one-sided attitude, as if hung up by the shoulder.
Informing his companion that he was but little inclined
to move far in such a tempestuous night, he decided to
remain in the inn till next morning.

On calling in the landlord, however, they learnt tbft:
the house was full of farmers on their way home from
a large sheep-fair in the neighbourhood, and that
several of these, having decided to stay on account of
the same tempestuous weather, had already engaged the
spare beds. If Mr. Dare ilrould give up his room, and
share a,|buble-bedded room with Mr. Havill, the thing
could fai^one, but not otherwise.

Tp the two companions agreed, pre*

A LAODICEAN

stotly went upstairs with as gentlemanly a walk and
vertical a candle as they could exhitnt under the cir-
cumstances.

The other inmates of the inn soon retired to
rest, and the storm raged on unheeded by all local
humanity,

DARE AND HAVILL

III

At two o^clock the rain lessened its fury. At half-
past two the obscured moon shone forth , and at thrfce
Havill awoke. The blind had not been pulled down
overnight, and the moonlight streamed into the room,
across the bed whereon Dare was sleeping. He lay
on his back, his arms thrown out ; and his well-curved
youthful form looked like an unpedestaled Dionysus in
the colourless lunar rays.

Sleep had cleared HavilPs mind from the drowsing
effects of the last night’s sitting, and he thought of
Dare’s mysterious manner in speaking of himself. This
lad resembled the Etruscan youth Tages, in one respect,
that of being a boy with, seemingly, the wisdom of a
sage ; and the effect of his presence was now heightened
by all those sinister and mystic attributes which are lent
by nocturnal environment. He who in broad daylight
might be but a young chevalier dHndustrie was now an
unlimited possibility in social phenomena. Havill re-
membered how the lad had pointed to his breast, and
said that his secret was literally kept there. The archi-
tect was too much of a provlhdal to have quenched the
common curiosity that was part of his nature by the
acquired metropolitan indifference to other people’s lives
which, in essence more unworthy even than the
causes less practical inconvenience in its
163

A LAODICEAN

Dare was breathing profoundly. Instigated as above
mentioned, Havill got out of bed and stood beside the
sleeper. After a moment’s pause he gently pulled back
the unfastened collar of Dare’s nightshirt and saw a
word tattooed in distinct characters on his breast.
Before there was time for Havill to decipher it Dare
moved slightly, as if consdous of disturbance, and
Havill hastened back to bed. Dare bestirred himself
yet more, whereupon Havill breathed heavily, though
keeping an intent glance on the lad through his half-
closed eyes to learn if he had been aware of the
investigation.

Dare was certainly conscious of something, for he
sat up, rubbed his eyes, and gazed around the room ;
tjipn after a few moments of reflection he drew some
article from beneath his pillow. A blue gleam shone
from the object as Dare held it in the moonlight, and
Havill perceived that it was a small revolver.

A clammy dew broke out upon the face and body
of the architect when, stepping out of bed with the
weapon in his hand. Dare looked under the bed,
behind the curtains, out of the window, and into a
closet, as if convinced that something had occurred,
but in doubt as to what it was. He then came across
to where Havill was lying and still keeping up the
appearance of sleep. Watching him awhile and mis-
trusting the reality of this semblance, Dare brought it
to the test by holding the revolver within a few inches
of Havill’s forehead.

Havill could stand no more. Crystallized with
terror, he said, without however moving more than
his lips, in dread of hasty action -on the part of Dare :
‘ O, good Lord, Dare, Dari, I have done nothing ! ’

The youth smiled and lowered the pistol. ‘ I was
only finding out whether it was you or some burglar who
had bQH^ playing tricks upon me. I find it was you.’

‘Do put away that thing! It is too ghastly to
164

DARE AND HAVILL

produce in a respectable bedroom. Why do you
carry it?’

‘Cosmopolites always do. Now answer my ques-
tions. What were you up to ? ' and Dare as he spoke
played with the pistol again.

Havill had recovered some, coolness. ‘You could
not use it upon me,’ he said sardonically, watching
Dare. ‘It would be risking your neck for too little
an object.’

‘I did not think you were shrewd enough to see
that,* replied Dare carelessly, as he returned the revolver
to its place. ‘Well, whether you have outwitted me
or no, you will keep the secret as long as I choose.’

‘Why?’ said Havill.

‘Because 1 keep your secret of the letter abusing
Miss P., and of the pilfered tracing you carry in ylmr
pocket.*

‘ It IS quite true,* said Havill.

They went to bed again. Dare was soon asleep;
but Havill did not attempt to disturb him again. The
elder man slept but fitfully. He was aroused in the
morning by a heavy rumbling and jingling along the
highway overlooked by the window, the front wall of the
house being shaken by the reverberation.

‘ There is no rest for me here,* he said, rising and
going to the window, carefully avoiding the neighbour-
hood of Mr. Dare. When Havill had glanced out he
returned to dress himself.

‘What*s that noise?’ said Dare, awakened by the
same rumble.

‘ It is the Artilleiy going away.’

‘ From where ? *

‘ Markton barracks.’

‘ Hurrah ! * said Dare, jumping up in bed. * I have
been waiting for that these six weeks.’

Havill did not ask questions as to the owning of
this unexpected remark.

165

A LAODICEAN

When they were downstairs Dare’s first act was to
ring the bdl and ask if his Army and Navy Gazette had
arrived.

While the servant was gone Havill cleared his throat
and said, * { am an architect, and 1 take in the Architect,
you are an architect, and you take in the Army and
Navy Gazette,^

* 1 am not an architect any more than I am a soldier ,
but I have taken in the Army and Navy Gazette these
many weeks.’

When they were at breakfast the paper came in.
Dare hastily tore it open and glanced at the pages.

* I am going to Markton after breakfast ! ’ he said
suddenly, before looking up ; ‘we will walk together if
you like ? ’

They walked together as planned, and entered
Markton about ten o’clock.

‘ I have just to make a call here,’ said Dare, when
they were opposite the barrack-entrance on the outskirts
of the town, where wheel-tracks and a regular chain of
hoof-marks left by the departed batteries were imprinted
in the gravel between the open gates. ‘ I shall not be
a moment.’ Havill stood still while his companion
entered and asked the commissary in charge, or some-
body representing him, when the new batteries would
arrive to take the place of those which had gone away.
He was informed that it would be about noon.

‘Now I am at your service,’ said Dare, ‘and will
help you to rearrange your design by the new intellectual
light we have acquired.’

Th^ entered Havill’s office and set to work. When
contrasted with the tracing from Somerset’s plan, Havill’s
design, which was not far advanced, revealed all its
weaknesses to him. After seeing Somerset’s scheme
the bands of Havill’s imagination were loosened: he
laid his own previous efforts aside, got fresh sheets of
drawing-pi|)er and drew with vigour,

i66

t>ARE AND HAVILL

‘ I may as well stay and help you/ said Dare,
have nothing to do till twelve o’clock ; and not mi^h
then.’

So there he remained. At a quarter to twdve
children and idlers began to gather against, the railings
of Havill’s house. A few minutes past twelve the noise
of an arriving host was heard at the entrance to the town.
Thereupon Dare and HaviU went to the window.

The X and Y Batteri^ of the Z Brigade, Royal
Horse Artillery, were entering Markton, each headed by
the major with his bugler behind him. In a moment
they came abreast and passed, every man in his place ;
that is to say :

Six shining horses, in pairs, harnessed by rope-traces
white as milk, with a driver on each near horse ^ two
gunners on the lead-coloured stout-wheeled limber,* their
carcases jolted to a jelly for lack of springs : two gunners
on the lead-coloured stout-wheeled gun-carriage, in the
same personal condition : the nine-pounder gun, dipping
its heavy head to earth, as if ashamed of its office in
these enlightened times; the complement of jingling
and prancing troopers, riding at the heels and else-
where : six shining horses with their drivers, and traces
white as milk, as before : two more gallant jolted men,
on another jolting limber, and more stout wheels and
lead-coloured paint ; two more jolted men on another
drooping gun; more jingling troopers on horseback;
again six shining draught-hoises, traces, drivers, gun,
gunners, lead paint, stout wheels and troopers as before.

So each detachment lumbered slowly by, all eyes
martially forward, except when wandering in quest of
female beauty.

* He’s a fine fellow, is he not ? ’ said Dare, denoting
by a nod a mounted officer, with a sallow, yet handsome
face, and black moustache, who came up on a bay
gelding with the men of his battery.

‘ Y^at is he ? ’ said Havill.^

167

A LAODICEAN

^ A captain who lacks advancement.’

* Do you know him ? ’

‘ I know him ? ’

‘Yes; do you?*

Dare made no reply ; and they watched the captain
as he rode past with his drawn sword in his hand, the
sun making a little sun upon its blade, and upon his
brilliantly polished long boots and bright spurs; als9
warming his gold cross-belt and braidings, white gloves,
busby with its red l)ag, and tall white plume.

Havill seemed to be too indifferent to press his
questioning ; and when all the soldiers had passed by,
Dale observed to his companion that he should leave
him for a short time, but would return in the afternoon
or next day.

After this he walked up the street in the rear of the
artilleiy, following them to the barracks. On reaching
the gates he found a crowd of people gathered outside,
looking with admiration at the guns and gunners drawn
up within the enclosure. When the soldiers were dis-
missed to their quarters the sightseers dispersed, and
Dare went through the gates to the banack-yard.

The guns were standing on the green ; the soldiers
and horses were scattered about, and the handsome
captain whom Dare had pointed out to Havill was
inspecting the buildings in the company of the quarter-
master. Dare made a mental note of these things, and,
apparently changing a previous intention, went out from
the barracks and returned to the town.

DARE AND HAVILL

IV

To return for a while to George Somerset. The sun
of his later existence having vanished from that yodng
man's horizon, he confined himself closely to the studio,
superintending the exertions of his draughtsmen Bowles,
Knowles, and Cockton, who were now in the full swing
of working out Somerset's creations from the sketches
he had previously prepared.

He had so, far got the start of Havill in the com-
petition that, by the help of these three gentlemen,
his design was soon finished. But he gained no
unfair advantage on this account, an additional month
being allowed to Havill to compensate for his later
information.

Before sealing up his drawings Somerset wished to
spend a short time in London, and dismissing his
assistants till further notice, he locked up the rooms
which had been appropriated as office and studio and
prepared for the journey.

It was afternoon. Somerset walked from the castle
in the dixection of the wood to reach Markton by a
detour. He had not proceeded far when there ap-
proached his path a man riding a bay horse with a
square-cut tail. The equestrian wore a grizzled beard,
and looked at Somerset with a piercing eye as be
noiselessly ambled nearer over the soft sod of the park.

169

A LAODICEAN

He proved to be Mr. Cunningham Haze, chief constable
of the district, who had become slightly known to
Somerset during his sojourn here.

‘ One word, Mr. Somerset,* said the Chief, after they
had exchanged nods of recognition, reining his horse as
he spoke.

Somerset stopped.

‘You have a studio at the castle in which you are
preparing drawings ? *

‘I have.*

* Have you a clerk ? *

‘ I had three till yesterday, when I paid them off.*

‘ Would they have any right to enter the studio late
at night ? *

‘There would have been nothing wrong in their
doing so. Either of them might have gone back at
any time for something forgotten. They lived quite
near the castle.*

‘ Ah, then all is explained. I was riding past over
the grass on the night of last Thursday, and I saw two
persons in your studio with a light. It must have been
about half past nine o*clock. One of them came for-
ward and pulled down the blind so that the light fell
upon his face. But I only saw it for a short time.*

‘ If it were Knowles or Cockton he would have hati
a beard.*

‘ He had no beard.*

‘ Then it must have been Bowles. A young man ? *

‘Quite young. His companion in the background
seemed older.*

‘They are all about the same age really. By the
way — it couldn*t have been Dare — and Havill, surely !
Would you recognize them again ? *

‘ The young one possibly. The other not at all,
for he remained in the shade.*

Somerset endeavoured to discern in a description
by the chief ccinstable the features of Mr, Bowles ; but
170

DAR£ AND HAVILjU

it seemed to approximate more closely to Dare in spite
o{ himself. ‘ 1*11 make a sketch of the only one who*
had no business there, and show it to you,* he presently
said. * I should like this cleared up.’

Mr. Cunningham Haze said he was going to Tone-
borough that afternoon, but would return in the evening
before Somerset’s departure. With this they parted.
A possible motive for Dare’s presence in the rooms
had instantly presented itself to Somerset’s mind, for
he had seen Dare enter Havill’s office more than once,
as if he were at work there.

He accordingly sat on the next stile, and taking out
his pocket-book began a pencil sketch of Dare’s head,
to show to Mr. Haze in the evening ; for if Dare had
indeed found admission with Havill, or as his agent,
the design was lost.

But he could not make a drawing that was a satis-
factory likeness. ^ Then he luckily remembered that
Dare, in the intense warmth of admiration he had
affected for Somerset on the first day or two of their
acquaintance, had begged for his photograph, and in
return for it had left one of himself on the mantelpiece,
taken as he said by his own process. Somerset resolved
to show this production to Mr. Haze,- as being more
to the purpose than a sketch, and instead of finishing
the latter, proceeded on his way.

He entered the old overgrown drive which wound
* indirectly through the wood to Markton. The road,
having been laid out for idling rather than for progress,
bent sharply hither and thither among the fissured
trunks and layers of horny leaves which lay there all
the year round, interspersed with cushions of vivid
green moss that formed oases in the rust-red expanse.

Reaching a point where the road made one of its
bends between two large beeches, a man and woman
revealed themselves at a few yards’ distance, walking
slowly towards him. In the short and quaint lady he
171

A LAO01CEAM

recognized Charlotte De Stancy, whom he remembered
not to have seen for several days.

She slightly blushed and said, ^ O, this is pleasant,
Mr. Somerset 1 Let me present my brother to you.
Captain De Stancy of the Royal Horse Artillery.’

Her brother came forward and shook hands heartily
with Somerset ; and they all three rambled on together,
talking of the season, the place, the fishing, the shoot-
ing, and whatever else qame uppermost in their minds.

' Captain De Stancy was a personage who would have
been called interesting by women well out of their
teens. He was ripe, without having declined a digit
towards fogeyism. He was sufficiently old and ex-
perienced to suggest a goodly accumulation of touching
amourettes in the chambers of his memory, and not
too old for the possibility of increasing the store. He
was apparently about eight-and-thirty, less t§il than his
father had b^n, but admirably made; and his every
movement exhibited a fine combination of strength
and flexibility of limb. His face was somewhat thin
and thoughtflil, its complexion being naturally pale,
though darkened by exposure to a warmer sun than
ours. His features were somewhat striking; his
moustache and hair nHln black ; and his eyes, denied
the attributes of military keenness by reason of the
largeness and darkness of their aspect, acquired thereby
a softness of expression that was in part womanly. His
mouth as far as it could be seen "reproduced this
characteristic, which might have been called weakness,
or goodness, according to the mental attitude of the
observer. It was large but well formed, and showed
an unimpaired line of teeth within. His dress at
present was a heather-coloured rural suit, cut close to
his figure. ^

‘ You knew my cousin, Jack itavensbury ? ’ he said
to Somerset, as they went on. * Poor Jack : he was a
good fellow.*

DARE AND HAVIX.^

< He was a very good fidkur.*

< He would have been made a pamon if he liad live<i
—it was his great wish. I, as aanior, and a inan of
the world as 1 thought myself used to chaff Urn about
it when he was a boy, and tidl him not to be a mOhsop,
but to enter the army. But I dunk Jack was r^t^
the parsons have the best of it, I see now.’

< They would hardly admit that/ said Somerset, laugb*
ing. ‘ Nor can I.’

*NorI/ said the captain’s '^sister, *See how lovely
you all looked with your b^ guns and uniform when
you entered Markton; and then see how stu^ud the
parsons look by comparison, when they flock into Mark*
ton at a Visitation.’

‘ Ah, yes,’ said De Stancy,

** Doubtless it is a brilliant masqueiade ;

®ut when of the first sight you’ve had your fill,

It palls — at least it does so upon me,

This paradise of pleasure and ennui.”

When one is getting on for forty ;

** When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming,
Dressed, voted, shone, and^aybe, something more ;

With dandies dined, heard semtors declaiming ;

Seen beauties brought to market by the score,*’

and so on, there arises a strong desire for a quiet old-
fashioned country life, in which incessant movement is*
not a necessary part of the programme.*

‘ But you are not forty. Will ? * said Charlotte.

‘ My dear, I was thirty-nine last January.*

* Well, men about here are youths at that age. It
was India used you up so, when you served in the line,
was it not ? I wish vou had never gone there I *

* So do I,* said" He Stancy drily. ‘ But I ought to
grow a youth again, like the rest, now 1 am in mff
native air.*

*73

A LAODICEAN

They came to a narrow brook, not wider than a man’s
stride, and Miss De Stancy halted on the edge.

‘Why, Lottie, you us^ to jump it easily enough,’
said her brother. ‘ But we won’t make her do it now,’
He took her in his arms, and lifted her over, giving her
a gratuitous ride for some additional yards, and saying,
‘ You are not a pound heavier, Lott, than you were at
ten years old. . . . What do you think of the country
here, Mr. Somerset ? Are you going to stay long ? ’

‘ I think very well of it,’ said Somerset. ‘ But I leave
to-morrow morning, which makes it necessary that I turn
back in a minute or two from walking with you.’

‘That’s a disappointment. I had hoped you were
going to finish out the autumn with shooting. There’s
some, very fair, to be got here on reasonable terms, I’ve
just heard.’

‘But you need not hire any!’ spoke up, Charlotte.
* Paula would let you shoot anything, I am sure. She
has not been here long enough to preserve much game,
and the poachers had it all in Mr. Wilkins’ time. But
what there is you might kill with pleasure to her.’

‘ No, thank you,’ said De Stancy grimly. ‘ I prefer
to remain a stranger to Miss Power — Miss Steam-Power,
she ought to be called — and to all her possessions.’

Charlotte was subdued, and did not insist further ;
while Somerset, before he could feel himself able to
decide on the mood in which the gallant captain’s joke
at Paula’s expense should be taken, wondered whether
it were a married man or a bachelor who uttered it.

He had not been able to keep the question of De
Stancy’s domestic state out of his head from the first
moment of seeing him. Assuming De Stancy to be a
husband, he fdt there might be some excuse for his
remark; if unmarried, Somerset liked the satire still
better ; in such circumstances there was a relief in the
thought that Captain De Stancy’s prejudices might be
infinitely stronger than those of his sister or father.

174

DARE AND HAVILL

'Going to-morrow, did you say, Mr. Somerset?*
asked Miss De Stancy. ' Then will you dine with us
to-day? My father is amdpus that you should do so
before you go. I am sorry there will be only our own
family present to meet you ; but you can leave as early
as you wish.'

Her brother seconded the invitation, and Somerset
promised, though his leisure for that evening was short.
He was in truth somewhat inclined to like De Stancy ;
for though the captain had said nothing of any value
either on war, commerce, science, or art, he had seemed
attractive to the younger man. Beyond the natural
interest a soldier has for imaginative minds in the dvil
walks of life, De Stancy*s occasional manifestations qf
tadtum vitcB were too poetically shaped to be repellent.*
Gallantry combined in him with a sort of ascetic self-
repression in a way that was curious. He was a dozen
years older than Somerset : his life had been passed in
grooves remote from those of Somerset’s own life ; and
the latter decided that he would like to meet the artillery
officer again.

Bidding them a temporary farewell, he went away to
Markton by a shorter path than that pursued by the De
Stancys, and after spending the remainder of the after-
noon preparing for departure, he sallied forth just before
the dinner-hour towards the suburban villa.

He had become yet more curious whether a Mrs. De
Stancy existed; if there were one he would probably
see her to-night. He had an irrepressible hope that
there might be such a lady. On entering the drawing-
room only the father, son, and daughter were assembled.
Somerset fell into talk with Charlotte during the few
minutes before dinner, and his thought found its way
^out.

* There is no Mrs. De Stancy ? ' he said in an under-
tone

' None,’ she said ; ‘ my brother is a bachelor.'

^75

A LAODICEAN

The dinner haymg been fixed at an early hj(|(6rta^
mit Somerset, they had returned to the drawin^^^oeom
at eight o’clock. About i:^e he was aiming to get
away.

< You are not off yet ? ’ said the captain.

‘There would have been no hurry,’ said Somerset,

‘ had 1 not just remembeied that I have left one thing
undone which I want to attend to before my departure.
I want to see the chief constable to-night’

‘ Cunningham Haze ? — he is the very man I too want
to see. But he went out of town this afternoon, and I
hardly think you will see him to-night. His return has
been delayed.’

‘ Then the matter must wait.’

‘ I have left word at his house asking him to call here
if he gets home before half-past ten ; but at any rate I
shall see him tp-morrow morning. Can I do anything
for you, since you are leaving early ? ’

Somerset replied that the business was of no great
importance, and briefly explained the suspected intrusion
into his studio ; that he had with him a photograph of
the suspected young man. ‘ If it is a mistake,’ added
Somerset, *1 should regret putting my draughtsman’s
portrait into the hands of the police, since it might
injure his character ; indeed, it would be unfair to him
So I wish to keep the likeness in my own hands, and
merely to show it to Mr. Haze ; that’s why I prefer not
to send it.’

‘ My matter with Haze is that the barrack furniture
does not correspond with the inventories. If you likCi
I’ll ask your question at the same time with pl^ure.'

Thereupon Somerset gave Captain De Stancy an un-
&stened envelope containing the portrait, asldng him
to destroy it if the constable should declare it not tc
correspond with the face that met his eye at the window.
Soon after, Somerset took his leave of the household.

He had not bean absent ten minutes when otbai
176

DARE AKty HAVILL

wheds were heard on the gravel without, and the servant
announced Mr. Cunningham Haze, who had returned
earlier than he had expected, and had called as re-
quested.

They went into the dimng-room to discuss their
business. When the barrack matter had been arranged
De Stancy said, < I have a little commission to execute
for my friend Mr. Somerset. I am to ask you if this
portrait of the person he suspects of unlawfully entering
his room is like the man you saw there ? ’

The speaker was seated on one side of the dining-
table and Mr. Haze on the other. As he spoke De
Stancy palled the envelope from his pocket, and half
drew out the photograph, which he had not as yet looked
at, to hand it over to the constable. In the act his
eye fell upon the portrait, with its uncertain expression
of age, assured look, and hair worn in a fringe like a
girl's.

Captain De Stancy’s face became strained, and he
leant back in his chair, having previously had sufficient
power over himself to close the envelope and return it
to his pocket.

‘Good heavens, you are ill, Captain De Stancy?*
said the chief constable.

‘ It was only momentary,* said De Stancy ; ‘ better in
a minute — a glass of water will put me right.*

Mr. Haze got him a glass of water from the side-
board.

‘These spasms occasionally overtake me,* said De
Stancy when he had drunk. ‘I am already better.
What were we saying? O, this affair of Mr. Somer-
set's. I find that this envelope is not the right one.’
He ostensibly searched his pocket again. ‘ I must have
mislaid i^’ he continued, rising. ‘1*11 be with you
again in a moment.*

De Stancy went into the room adjoining, opened an
album of portraits that lay on the table, and selected
177 M

A LAODICEAN

one of a young man quite unknown to him, whose age
was somewhat akin to Dare’s, but who in no other
attribute resembled him.

De Stanqr placed this picture in the original enve-
lope, ^d returned with it to the chief constable, saying
he had found it at last

‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Cunningham Haze,
looking it over. ‘Ah — I perceive it is not what I
expected to see. ‘ Mr. Somerset was mistaken.’

When the chief constable had left the house, Captain
De Stancy shut the door and drew out the original
photograph. As he looked at the transcript of Dare’s
features he was moved by a painful agitation, till re-
calling himself to the present, he carefully put the
portrait into the fire.

During the following days Captain De S^ancy’s
manner on the roads, in the streets, and at barracks,
was that of Crusoe after seeing the print of a man’s
foot on the sand.

DARE AND HAVILL

V

Anybody who had closely considered Dare at this
time would have discovered that, shortly after 'the
arrival of the Royal Horse Artillery at Markton Bar-
racks, he gave up his room at the inn at Sleeping-
Green and took permanent lodgings over a broker’s
shop in the town above-mentioned. The peculiarity of
the rooms was that they commanded a view lengthwise
of the bariack lane along which rny soldier, in the
natural course of things, would pass either to enter
the town, to call at Myrtle Villa, or to go to Stancy
Castle.

Dare seemed to act as if there were plenty of time
for his business. Some few days had slipped when,
perceiving Captain De Stancy walk past his window
and into the town, Dare took his hat and cane, and
followed in the same direction. When he was about
fifty yards short of Myrtle Villa on the other side of
the town he saw De Stancy enter its gate.

Dare mounted a stile beside the highway and
patiently waited. In about twenty minutes De Stancy
came out again and turned back in the direction of the
town, till Dare was revealed to him on his left hand.
When De Stancy recognized the youth he was visibly
acritated, though apparently not surprised. Standing
still a moment he dropped his glance upon the ground,
179

A LAODICEAN

and then came forward to Dare, who having alighted
from the stile stood before the captain with a smile.

*My dear lad!’ said De Stancy, much moved by
recollections. He held Dare’s hand for a moment in
both his own, and turned askance.

‘ You are not astonished,’ said Dare, still retaining
liis smile, as if to his mind there were something comic
in the situation.

* I knew you were somewhere near. Where do you
come from ? ’

‘ From going to and fro in the earth, and walking up
and down in it, as Satan said to his Maker. — South-
ampton last, in common speech.’

‘ Have you come here to see me ? ’

‘ Entirely. I divined that your next quarters would
be Markton, the previous batteries that were at your
station having come on here. 1 have wanted to see
you badly.’

* You have ? ’

‘I am rather out of cash. I have been knocking
about a good deal since you last heard from me.’

‘ I will do what I can again.’

Thanks, captain.’

‘But, Willy, I am afraid it will not be much at
present. You know I am as poor as a mouse.’

‘ But such as it is, could you write a cheque for it
now? ’

‘ I will send it to you from the barracks.’

‘ I have a better ^an. By getting over this stile we
could go round at the back of the villas to Sleeping-
Green Church. There is always a pen-and-ink in the
vestiy, and we can have a nice talk on the way. It
would be unwise for me to appear at the barracks just
now.’

* That’s true.’

De Stance sighed, and they were about to walk across
the fields together. ‘ No,’ said Dare, suddenly stopping :
i8o

DARE AND HAVILL

my plans make it imperative that we should not run
the risk of being seen in each other's company for long.
Walk on, and I will follow. You can stroll into the
churchyard, and move about as if you were ruminating
on the epitaphs. There are some with excellent morals.
I'll enter by the other gate, and we can meet easily in
the vestry-room.*

De Stancy looked gloomy, and was on the point of
acquiescing when he turned back and said, ‘ Why should
your photograph be shown to the chief constable ? '

‘ By whom ? '

‘ Somerset the architect. He suspects your having
broken into his office oi something of the sort.’ De
Stancy briefly related what Somerset had explained to him
at the dinner-table.

‘ It was merely diamond cut diamond between us, on
an architectural matter,* murmured Dare. * Ho I and he
suspects ; and that's his remedy ! '

‘ I hope this is nothing serious ? ' asked De Stancy
gravely.

* I peeped at his drawing — that's all. But» since he
chooses to make that use of my photograph, which I
gave him in friendship, I’ll make use of his in a way he
little dreams of. Well now, let's on.'

A quarter of an hour later they met in the vestry ot
the church at Sleeping-Green.

‘ I have only just transferred my account to the bank
here,’ said De Stancy, as he took out his cheque-book,
‘and it will be more convenient to me at present to
draw but a small sum, I will make up the balance
afterwards.’

When he had written it Dare glanced over the paper
and said ruefully, ‘ It is small, dad. Well, there is all
the more reason why I should broach my scheme;, with
a view to making such documents larger in the future.’

‘1 shall be glad to hear of anyauch scheme,’ an*
swered De Stancy, with a languid attempt at jcneuh^.
lit

A LAODICEAN

^Then here it is. The plan I have arranged for you
is of the nature of a marriage.*

* You are very kind ! * said De Stancy, agape.

‘ The lady's name is Miss Paula Power, who, as you
may have heard since your arrival, is in absolute posses-
sion of her father's property and estates, including Stancy
Castle. As soon as I heard of her 1 saw what a mar-
vellous match it would be for you, and your family ; it
would make a man of you, in short, and I have set my
mind upon your putting no objection in the way of its
accomplishment.'

‘ But, Willy, it seems to me that, of us two, it is you
who exerefse paternal authority ? '

* True, it is for your good. Let me do it.*

* Well, one must be indulgent under the circumstances,
I suppose. . . . But,* added De St&ncy simply, * Willy,
I — don't want to many, you know. I have lately
thought that some day we may be able to live together,
you and I : go off to America or New Zealand, where
we are not known, and there lead a quiet, pastoral life,
defying social rules and troublesome observances.’

‘ I can't hear of it, captain,' replied Dare reprovingly.
‘ I am what events have made me, and having fixed my
mind upon getting you settled in life by this marriage, I
have put things in train for it at an immense trouble to
myself. If you had thought over it o’ nights as much
as I have, you would not say nay.*

‘But I ought to have married your mother if any-
body. And as I have not married her, the least I can
do in respect to her is to marry no other-woman.'

‘ You have some sort of duty to me, have you not.
Captain De Stancy ? '

‘ Yes, Willy, I admit that I have,' the elder replied
reflectively. * And I don’t think I have failed in it thus
far? *

‘ This will be the crowning proof. Paternal affection,
family pride, the noble instincts to reinstate yourself in
182

DARE AND HAVILL

the castle of your ancestors, all demand the step. Aii4
when you have seen the lady 1 She has the figure and»,
motions of a sylph, the face of an angel, the eye- of low*'
itself. What a sight she is crossing the lawn on a suntty
afternoon, or gliding airily along the corridors of the
old place the De Stancys knew so well ! Her lips are
the softest, reddest, most distracting things you ever
saw. Her hair is as soft as silk, and of the barest,
tenderest brown.’

The captain moved uneasily. ^ Don’t take the
trouble to say more, Willy,’ he observed. ‘ You know
how 1 am. My cursed susceptibility to these matters
has already wasted years of my life, and I don’t want
to make myself a fool about her too.’

* You must see her.’

* No, don’t let me see her,’ De Stancy expostulated.

‘ If she is only half so good-looking as you say, she will
drag me at her heels like a blind Samson. You are
a mere youth as yet, but I may tell you that the mis-
fortune of never having been my own master where a
beautiful face was concerned obliges me to be cautious
if I would preserve my peace of mind.’

‘ Well, to my mind, Captain De Stancy, your objec-
tions seem trhial. Are those all ? ’

‘ 'rhey are all I care to mention just now to you.’

‘ Captain ! can there be secrets between us ? ’

De Stancy paused and looked at the lad as if his
heart wished to confess what his judgment feared to
tell. ‘There should not be — on this point,’ he mur-
mured.

‘ Then tell me — why do you so much object to her ? ’

‘ I once vowed a vow.’

‘ A vow ! ’ said Dare, rather disconcerted.

‘ A vow of infinite solemnity. I must tell you from
tii(' beginning ; perhaps you are old enough to hesor it
nov', though you have been too young before. Your
mother’s life ended in much sorrow, and it waS occa*

183

A LAODICEAN

sioned entirely by me. In my regret for the wrong *
done her I swore to her that though she had not been
my wife, no other woman should stand in that relation-
shdp to me ; and this to her was a sort of comfort.
Whfn she was dead my knowledge of my own plaguy
impressionableness, which seemed to be ineradicable —
as it seems still — led me to think what safeguards I
could set over myself with a view to keeping itlf^
promise to live a life of celibacy; ahd among other
things I determined to forswear the society, and if
possible the sight, of women young and attractive, as
far as I had the power to do.’

* It is not so easy to avoid the sight of a beautiful
woman if she crosses your path, I should think ? ’

* It is not easy ; but it is possible.’

*How?’

* By directing your attention another way.’

< But do you mean to say, captain, that you can be
in a room with a pretty woman who speaks to you, and
not look at her ? ’

‘ I do : though mere looking has less to do with it
than mental attentiveness — ^allowing your thoughts to
flow out in her direction — to comprehend her image.’

‘But it would be considered very impolite not to
look at the woman or comprehend her image ? ’

‘It would, and is. I am considered the most
impolite officer in the service. I have been nicknamed
the man with the averted eyes — the man with the
detestable habit — ^the man who greets you with his
shoulder, and so on. Ninety-and-nine fair women at
the present moment hate me like poison and death
for having persistently refused to plumb the depths of
their offered eyes.’

I How can you do it, who are by nature courteous ? ’

‘ I cannot always — ^I break down sometimes. But,
upon the whole, recollection holds me to it : dread of
a lapse. Nothing is so potent as feaa well maintained,’
x84

PARE AND HAVILL

De Stancy narrated these details in a grave medita-
tative tone with his eyes on the wall, as if he were
scarcely conscious of a listener*

* But haven*t you reckless moments, cs^ttain ^
when you have taken a little more wine thw usu^,
for instance?’

‘ I don't take wine.*

‘ O, you are a teetotaller ? *

‘Not a pledged one — but I don't touch alcohol
unless I get wet, or anything of that soit,'^

‘ Don't you sometimes forget this vow of yotirs to
my mother ? *

* No, I wear a reminder.'

‘ What i^ that like ? '

De Stancy held up his left hand, on the third finger
of which appeared an iron nng.

Dare surveyed it, saying, ‘Yes, I have seen that
before, though I never knew why you wore it Well,
I wear a reminder also, but of a different sort.’

He threw open his shirt-front, and revealed tattooed
on his breast the letters DE STANCY; the same
marks which Havill had seen in the bedroom by the
light of the moon.

The captain rather winced at the sight ‘ Wdl, wdl,’
he said hastily, ‘ that's enough. . . . Now, at any rate,
you understand my objection to know Miss Power.’

’ But, captain,' said the lad coaxingly, as he fastened
his shirt ; ‘ you forget me and the good you may do me
by marrying ? Surdy that’s a sufficient reason for a
change of sentiment. This inexperienced sweet creature
owns the castle and estate which bears your name, even
to the furniture and pictures. She is the possessor of
at least forty thousand a year — ^how much more I
cannot say-^while, buried here in Outer Wessek, sl^e
livob at the rate of twelve hundred in her simplicityf*

< It is very good of you to set this before me.
prefer to go on as hm, gomg.’

sSs

A LAODICEAN

*Well, I won’t bore you any more with her to day.
A monk in regimentals ! — ’tis strange.' Dare arose and
was about to open the door, when, looking through the
Window, Captain De Stancy said, ‘Stop.' He had
perceived his father. Sir William De Stancy, walking
among the tombstones without.

‘Yes, indeed,' said Dare, turning the key in the
door. ‘It would look strange if he were to find us
here.'

As the old man seemed indisposed to leave the
churchyard just yet they sat down again.

‘What a capital card-table this green cloth would
make,’ said Dare, as they waited. * You play, captain,
I suppose ? '

‘ Very seldom.'

‘ The same with me. But as I enjoy a hand of cards
with a friend, I don't go unprovided.' Saying which.
Dare drew a pack from the tail of his coat. ‘ Shall we
while away this leisure with the witching things ? '

‘ Really, I'd rather not.'

‘ But,' coaxed the young man, ‘ I am in the humour
for it ; so don't be unkind I '

‘But, Willy, why do you care for these things?
Cards are harmless enough in their way; but I don't
like to see you carrying them in your pocket. It isn't
good for you.'

‘It was by the merest chance I had them. Now
come, just one hand, since we are prisoners. I want to
show you how nicely I can play. I won't corrupt you I '

‘Of course not,' said De Stancy, as if ashamed of
what his objection implied. ‘You are not corrupt
enough yourself to do that, I should hope.'

The cards were dealt and they began to play —
Captain De Stancy abstractedly, and with his eyes
mostly straying out of the window upon the large y^w,
whose boughs as they moved were distorted by the old
green window-panes.

x86

DARE AND HAVILL

*It is belter than doing nothing/ said Dare cheer-
fully, as the game went on. ‘ I hope you don’t dislike it?'

‘ Not if it pleases you,' said De Stancy listlessly.

* And the consecration of this place does not extend
further than the aisle wall.'

‘Doesn’t it?' said De Stancy, as he mechanically
played out his cards. ‘What became of that box ot
books I sent you with my last cheque ? '

‘ Well, as I hadn’t time to read them, and as I knew
you would not like them to tif wasted, I sold them to a
bloke who peruses them from morning till night. Ah,
now you have lost a fiver altogether — how queer!
We’ll double the stakes So, as I was saying, just at
the time the books came I got an inkling of this
important business, and literature went to the wall.’

‘ Impoitaiit business — what ? ’

‘The capture of this lady, to be sure.’

De Stancy sighed impatiently. ‘ I wish you were
less calculating, and had more of the impulse natural to
your years 1 ’

‘Game — by Jove! You have lost again, captain.
That makes — let me see — nine pounds fifteen to
square us.’

‘ I owe you that ? ’ said De Stancy, startled. ‘ It is
more than I have in cash. I must write another cheque.’

‘ Never mind. Make it payable to yourself, and our
connection will be quite unsuspected.'

Captain De Stancy did as requested, and rose from
his seat. Sir William, though further olf, was still in
the churchyard.

‘How can you hesitate for a moment about this
girl?’ said Dare, pointing to the bent figure of the old
man. ‘Think of the satisfaction it would be to him to
see his son within the family walls again. It should be
a religion with you to compass such a legitimate end ae
this.'

‘ Well, well, I’ll think of it,' said the captain, with an

187

A LAODICEAN

impatient laugh. <You are quite a Mephi$tophdes,
Will — I say it to my sorrow ! '

‘ Would that I were in your place.’

^ < Would that you were ! Fifteen years ago I might
have called the chance a magnificent one.’

' But you are a young man still, and you look younger
than you are. Nobody knows our relationship, and 1
am not such a fool as to divulge it. Of course, if
through me you reclaim this splendid possession, I
should leave it to your fellings what you would do for
me.’

Sir William had by this time cleared out of the
churchyard, and the pair emerged from the vestry and
departed. Proceeding towards Markton by the same by-
path,' they presently came to an eminence covered with
bushes of blackthorn, and tufts of yellowing fern. From
this point a good view of the woods and glades about
Stancy Castle could be obtained. Dare stood still on
the top and stretched out his finger ; the captain’s eye
followed the direction, and he saw above the many-bued
foliage in the middle distance the towering keep of
Paula’s castle.

' That’s the goal of your ambition, captain — ambition
do 1 say? — most righteous and dutiful endeavour!
How the hoary shape catches the sunlight — it is the
ratsoff d*^tr€ of the landscape, and its possession is
coveted by a thousand hearts. Surely it is an hereditary
desire of yours ? You must make a point of returning
to it, and appearing in the map of the future as in that
of the past. I delight in this work of encouraging you,
and pushing you forward towards your own. You aje
really very clever, you know, but — I say it with respect
— how comes it that you want so much waking up ? ’

* Because I know the day is not so bright as it seems,
my boy. However, you make a little mistake. If I
care for anything on earth, 1 do care for that old for-
tress of my fore&thers. I respect so little amon^ the
288

DARK AnD HAVILL

living that all my reverence ia ibr my own dead.
But manieuviing, even for my own, a$ you call it, ia
not in my line. It ia distaateful^^it ia positively hatafol
to me.’ ,

■Well, well, let it stand thus for the present But
will you refuse me one little request— merely to ace her ?
I’ll contrive it so that she may not see you. Don’t
refuse me, it is the one thing I ask, and 1 shall think it
hard ifyou deny me.’ ,

‘ 0 Will !’ said tlie captain wearily. ‘ Why will you
plead so ? No— even though your mind is particularly
set upon it, I cannot see her, or bestow a thought upon
her, much as I should like to gratify you.’

A LAODICEAN

VI

When they had parted Dare walked along towards
Markton with resolve on his mouth and an unscrupulous
light in his prominent black eye. Could any person who
had heard the previous conversation have seen him now,
he would have found little difficulty in divining that,
notwithstanding De Stanc/s obduracy, the reinstation
of Captain De Stancy in the castle, and the possible
legitimation and enrichment of himself, was still the
dream of his brain. Even should any legal settlement
or offspring intervene to nip the extreme development
of his projects, there was abundant opportunity for his
glorification. Two conditions were imperative. De
Stancy must see Paula before Somerset's return. And
it was necessary to have help from Havill, even if it
involved letting him know all.

Whether Havill already knew all was a nice question
for Mr. Dare^s luminous mind. Havill had had oppor-
tunities of reading his secret, particularly on the night
they occupied the same room. If so, by revealing it to
Paula, Havill might utterly blast his project for the
marriage. Havill, then, was at all risks to be retained
as an ally.

Yet Dare would have preferred a stronger check upon
his confederate than was afforded by his own knowledge
of that anonymous letter and the competition trick, gipor
190

DARE AND HAVILL

were the competition lost to him, Havill would have no
further interest in conciliating Miss Power; would as
soon as not let her know the secret of De Stancy’s
relation to him.

Fortune as usual helped him in his dilemma. Enter-
ing HavilPs office, Dare found him sitting there; but
the drawings had all disappeared from the boards. The
architect held an open letter in his hand.

‘ Well, what news ? * said Dare.

^ I^Iiss Power has returned to the castle, Somerset is
detained in London, and the competition is decided,’
said Havill, with a glance of quiet dubiousness.

* And you have won it ? ’

‘No. Wc are bracketed — it’s a tie. The judges
say there is no choice between the designs — that they
are singularly equal and singularly good. That sKe
would do well to adopt either. Signed So-and-So,
P'ellows of the Royal Institute of Bntish Architects.
The result is that she will employ which she personally
likes best. It is as if I had spun a sovereign in the
air and it had alighted on its edge. The least false
movement will make it tails ; the least wise movement
heads.’

‘Singularly equal. Well, we owe that to our noc-
turnal visit, which must not be known.’

‘ O Lord, no ! ’ said Havill apprehensively.

Dare felt secure of him at those words. Havill
had much at stake; the slightest rumour of his trick
in bringing about the competition would be fatal to
Havill’s reputation.

‘ The permanent absence of Somerset then is desir-
able architecturally on your account, matrimonially on
mine.’

‘ Matrimonially ? By the way — who was that captain
you pointed out to me when the artillery entered the
town ? ’

Ifjaptain De Stancy — son of Sir William De Stancy
191

A LAODICEAN

He’s the husband. O. you needn*t look incredulous:
it is practicable; but we i^on^t argue that. In the first
place I want him to see her, and to see her in the
most love-kindling, passion-begetting circumstances that
can be thought of. And he must see her surreptitiously,
for he refuses to meet her.'

‘ Let him see her going to church or chapel ? ’

Dare shook his head.

‘ Driving out ^ *

* Common-place ’ *

* Walking in the gardens ? '

‘ Ditto.’

* At her toilet f ’

‘ Ah — ^if it were possible * *

‘ Which it hardly is. Well, you had better think it
over and make inquiries about her habits, and as to
when she is in a favourable aspect for observation, as
the almanacs say.’

Shortlji afterwards Dare took his leave. In the
evening he made it his business to sit smoking on the
bole of a tree which commanded a view of the upper
ward of the castle, and also of the old postem-gate, now
enlarged and used as a tradesmen’s entrance. It was
half-past six o’clock ; the dressing-bell rang, and Dare
saw a light-footed young woman hasten at the sound
across the ward from the servants’ quarter. A light
appeared in a chamber which he knew to be Paula’s
dressing-room; and there it remained half-an-hour, a
shadow passing and repassing on the bUnd in the style
of head-dress worn by the girl he had previously seen.
The dinner-bell sounded and the light went quU

As yet it was scarcely dark out of doors, and in a
few minutes Dare had the satisfaction of snieing the
same woman cross the ward and emerge upon the’ slope
without. This time she was bonnet^, and ’carried a
little basket in her hand. A nearer view showed her
to be, as he had expected, Milly Birch, Paula’s |||Aid,
19s

DARE AND HAVILL

who had friends living in Markton^ whom she was in
the habit of visiting almost every evening during the
three hours of leisure which intervened between Paula’s
retirement from the dressing-room and return thitlier
at ten o’clock When the young woman had descended
the road and passed into the large drive, Dare rose and
followed her.

‘ O. it is you, Miss Birch,’ said Dare, on overtaking
her. * I am glad to have the pleasure of walking by
your side.’

* Yes, sir. O it’s Mr. Dare. We don’t see you at
the castle now, sir.’

* m

* No. And do j^ou get a walk like this every evening
when the others are at their busiest ? ’

‘Almost every evening; that’s the one return to the
poor lady’s maid for losing her leisure when the others
get it — in the absence of the family from home.’

‘ Is Miss Power a hard mistress ? ’

‘No,’

‘ Rather fanciful than hard, I presume ? ’

‘ Just so, sir.’

‘ And she likes to appear to advantage, no doubt.’

‘ I suppose so,’ said Milly, laughing. ‘ We all do.’

‘When does she appear to the best advantage?
When riding, or driving, or reading her book ? ’*

‘ Not altogether then, if you mean the very best.’

‘ Perhaps it is when she sits looking in the glass at
herself, and you let down her hair.’

‘ Not particularly, to my mind.’

‘ When does she to your mind ? When dressed for
a dinner-party or ball ? ’

* She’s middling, then. But there is one time when
she looks nicer and cleverer than at any. It is when
she is in the gymnasium*’

‘ gymnasium ? ’

‘ Because when she is there she wears such a pttttf
bo|fti costume, and is so charming in her movements,

193 K

A LAODICEAN

that you think she is a lovely young youth and not a
girl at all.’

‘ When does she go to thfs gymnasium ? ’

‘Not so much as she used to. Only on wet morn-
ings now, when she can’t get out for walks or drives.
Rut she used to do it every day.’

‘ I should like to see her there.’

‘Why, sir?’

* I am a poor artist, and can’t afford models. To
see her attitudes would be of great assistance to me in
the art I love so well.*

Milly shook her head. * She’s very strict about the
door being locked. If I were to leave it open she would
dismiss me, as I .should deserve.’

‘ But consider, dear Miss Birch, the advantage to a
poor artist the sight of her would be : if you could hold
the door ajar it would be worth five pounds to me, and
a good deal to you.’

‘ No,’ said the incorruptible Milly, shaking her head.
‘ Besides, I don’t always go there with her. O no, I
couldn’t > ’

Milly remained so firm at this point that Dare said
no more.

\Vhen he had left her he returned to the castle
grounds; and though there was not much light he had
no difficulty in discovering the gymnasium, the outside
of which he had observed before, without thinking to
inquire its purpose. Like the erections in other parts
of the shrubberies it was constructed of wood, the inter-
stices between the framing being filled up with short
billets of fir nailed diagonally. J^are, even when with-
out a settled plan in his head, could arrange for pro-
babilities ; and wrenching out one of the billets he looked
inside. It seemed to a simple oblong apartment,
fitted up with ropes, with a little dressing-closet at one
end, and lighted by a skylight or lantern in the roof.
Dare replaced the wood and went on his way.

194

DARB AND HAVILL

Havill was smoking on his doorstep when Dare
passed up the street. He held up his hand.

‘ Since you have been gone,* said the architect, ‘ Fve
hit upon something that may help you in exhibiting
your lady to your gentleman. In the summer 1 had
orders to design a gymnasium for her, which I did;
and they say she is very clever on the ropes and bars.
Now *

‘ Fve discovered it I shall contrive for him to see
her there on the first wet morning, which is when she
practises. What made her think of it ? ’

^ As you may have heard, she holds advanced views
on social and otfier matters ; and in those on the higher
education of women she is very strong, talking a good
deal about the physical training of the Greeks, whonj
she adores, or did Every philosopher and man of
science who ventilates his theories in the monthly re-
views has a devout listener in her ; and this subject of
the physical development of her sex has had its turn
with other things in her mind. So she had the place
built on her very first arrival, according to the latest
lights on athletics, and in imitation of those at the new
colleges for women.’

‘ How deuced clever of the girl I She means to live
to be a hundred.^

A LAODICEAN

VII

The wet day arrived with all the promptness that
might have l^een expected of it in this land of rains
and mists. The alder bushes behind the gymnasium
dripped monotonously leaf upon leaf, added to this
being the purl of the shallow stream a little way off,
producing a sense of satiety in watery sounds. Though
there was drizzle in the open meads, the rain here in
the thicket was comparatively slight, and two men with
fishing tackle who stood beneath one of the larger bushes
found its boughs a sufficient shelter.

* We may as well walk home again as study nature
here, Willy,* said the taller and elder of the twain. ‘ I
fear^ it would continue when we started. The magni-
ficent sport you speak of must rest for to-day.’

The other looked at his watch, but m^de no parti-
cular reply.

* Come, let us move on. 1 don’t Hke intruding into
other people’s grounds like this,’ De Stancy continued.

* We are not intruding. Anybody walks outside this
fence.’ He indicated an iron railing newly tarred,
dividing the wilder underwood amid which they stood
from the inner and well-kept parts of the shrubbery, and
against which the back of the gymnasium was built.

Light footsteps upon a graved walk could be heard on
the other side of the fence, and a trio of cloaked and
196

DARE AND HAVILL

umbrdla-screened figures were for a moment cfiscemible.
Thqr vanished behind the gymnasium ; and again no-
thing resounded but the river murmurs and the block-
like drippings of the leafage.

< Hush 1 ’ said Dare.

* No pranks, my boy,^ said Db Stancy suspiciously.

* You should be above them.’

< And you should trust to my good sense, captain,’
Dare remonstrated. * 1 have not indulged in a prank
since the sixth year of my pilgrimage : I have found
them too damaging to my interests. Well, it is not too
dry here, and damp injures your health, you say. Have
a pull for safety’s sake.’ He presented a flask to De,
Stancy.

The artillery officer looked down at his nether
garments.

don’t break my rule without good reason,’ he
observed.

* I am afraid that reason exists at present.’

‘ I am afraid it does. What have you got ? '

‘ Only a little wine.*

‘ What wine ? ’

‘ Do try it. I call it “ the blushful Hippocrene,” that
the poet describes as

“ Tasting of Flora and the country green ;

Dance, and Froven9al song, and sun-burnt mirth.” '

De Stancy took the flask, and drank a little.

* It warms, does it not ? ’ said Dare.

‘Too much,’ .said De Stancy with misgiving. ‘I
have been taken unawares. Why, it is three parts
brandy, to my taste, you scamp I ’

Dare put away the wine. ‘ Now you are to see some-
thing,’ he said.

‘Something — what is it?’ Captain De Stancy re-
garded him with a puzzled look.

197

A LAODICEAN

‘It is quite a curiosity, and really worth seeing. Now
just look in here.’

The speaker advanced to the back of the building,
and withdrew the wood billet from the wall.

‘ Will, I believe you are up to some trick,’ said De
Stancy, not, however, suspecting the actual truth in these
unsuggestive circumstances, and with a comfortable re>
signation, produced by the potent liquor, which would
have been comical to an outsider, but which, to one
who had known the history and relationship of the two
speakers, would have worn a sadder significance. ‘ I
am too big a fool about you to keep you down as I
ought ; that’s the fault of me, worse luck.’

He pressed the youth’s hand with a smile, went for-
ward, and looked through the hole into the intenor of
the gymnasium. Dare withdrew to some little distance,
and watched Captain De Stancy’s face, which presently
began to assume an expression of interest.

What was the captain seeing? A sort of optical
poem.

Paula, in a pink flannel costume, was bending,
wheeling and undulating in the air like a gold-fish in its
globe, sometimes ascending by her arms nearly to the
lantern, then lowering herself till she swung level with
the floor. Her aunt Mrs. Goodman, and Charlotte De
Stancy, were sitting on camp-stools at one end, watching
her gyrations, Paula occasionally addressing them with
such an expression as — * Now, Aunt, look at me — and
you, Charlotte — is not that shocking to your weak
nerves,’ when some adroit feat would be repeated, which,
however, seemed to give much more pleasure to Paula
herself in performing it than to Mrs. Goodman in look-
ing on, the latter sometimes saying, ‘ 0, it is terrific — do
nut run such a risk again ! ’

It would have demanded the poetic passion of some
joyous Elizabethan lyrist like Lodge, Nash, or Constable,
to fitly phrase Pair’s presentation of herself at this
198

DARE AND HAVILL

moment of absolute abandonment to every muscular
whim that could take possession of such a supple form.
The white manilla ropes clung about the performer like
snakes as she took her exercise, and the colour in her
face deepened as she went on. Captain De Stancy felt
that, much as he had seen in early life of beauty in
woman, he had never seen beauty of such a real and
living sort as this. A recollection of his vow, together
with a sense that to gaze on the festival of this Bona
Dea was, though so innocent and pretty a sight, hardly
fair or gentlemanly, would have compelled him to with-
draw his eyes, had not the sportive fascination of her
appearance glued them there in spite of all. And as if
to complete the picture of Grace personified and add
the one thing wanting to the charm which bound him,
the clouds, till that time thick in the sky, broke away
from the upper heaven, and allowed the noonday sun to
pour down through the lantern upon her, irradiating her
with a warm light that was incarnadined by her pink
doublet and hose, and reflected in upon her face. She
only reejuired a cloud to rest on instead of the green
silk net which actually supported her reclining figure for
the moment, to be quite Olympian ; save indeed that in
place of haughty effrontery there sat on her countenance
only the healthful sprightUness of an English girl.

Dare had withdrawn to a point at which another
path crossed the path occupied by De Stancy. Looking
in a side direction, he saw Havill idling slowly up to
him over the silent grass. Haviirs knowledge of the
appointment had brought him out to see what would
come of it. When he neared Dare, but was still
partially hidden Ijy the boughs from the third of the
party, the former simply pointed to De Stancy, upon
which Havill stood and peeped at him. ‘ Is she within
there > ’ he inquired.

Dare nodded, and wliispered, ' Vou need not have
asked, if you had examined his face.’

199

A LAODICEAN

' That’s true.’

‘A fermentation is banning in him,’ said Dare,
half pitifully; 'a purely chemical process; and when it
is complete he will probably be clear, and fiery, and
sparkling, and quite another man than the good, weak,
easy fellow that he was.’

To predsely describe Captain De Stancy’s admiration
was impossible. A sun seemed to rise in his face. By
watching him they could almost see the aspect of her
within the wall, so accurately were her changing phases
reflected in him. He seemed to forget that he was
not alone.

‘ And is this,’ he murmured, in the manner of one
only half apprehending himself, ‘ and is this the end of
my vow?’

Paula was saying at this moment, ‘ Ariel sleeps in
this posture, does he not, Auntie? ’ Suiting the action
to the word she flung out her arms behind her head as
she lay in the green silk hammock, idly closed her pink
eyelids, and swung herself to and fro.

£OOA' THE TH/EZf

DE S7ANCY

D£ STANCY

BOOir THE THIRD
DE STANCY

I

Captain de stancy was a changed man. A

hitherto wtll-iepressed energy was giving him motion
towards long-shunned consequences. His features were,
indeed, the same as before; though, had a physiognomist
chosen to study them with the closeness of an astronomer
scanning the universe, he would doubtless have discerned
abundant novelty.

In recent years Dc Stancy had been an easy, melan-
choly, unaspiring officer, enervated and depressed by a
parental affection quite beyond his control for the grace-
less lad Dare — the obtrusive memento of a shadowy
period in De Stancy's youth, who threatened to lie the
curse of his old age. Throughout a long space he had
Iiersevered in his system of rigidly incarcerating within
himself all instincts towards the opposite sex, with a
resolution that woOld not have disgraced a much
stronger man. By this haUt, maintained with fair
success, a chamber of his nature had been preserved
intact during many later years, like the one solitary
sealed up cell occasionally retained bees in a lobe
of drained hon^-comb. And thus, though he had
irretrievably exhausted the relish of society, of ambition,
ao3

A LAODICEAN

of action, and of his profession, the love-force that he
bad kept immured alive was still a reproducible thing.

The sight of Paula in her graceful performance, which
the judicious Dare had so carefully planned, led up
to and hdghtened by subtle accessories, operated on
De Stancy’s surprised soul with a promptness almost
magical.

On the evening of the self-same day, having dined as
usual, he retired to his rooms, where he found a hamper
of wine awaiting him. It had been anonymously sent,
and the account was paid. He smiled grimly, but no
longer with heaviness. In this he instantly recognized
the handiwork of Dare, who, having at last broken
down the barrier which De Stancy had erected round
his heart for so many years, acted like a skilled
strategist, and took swift measures to follow up the
advantage so tardily gained.

Captain De Stancy knew himself conquered: he
knew he should yield to Paula — had inde^ yielded;
but there was now, in his solitude, an hour or two of
reaction. He did not drink from the bottles sent. He
went early to bed, and lay tossing thereon till far into
the night, thinking over ^e collapse. His teetotalism
had, with the lapse of years, unconsciously become the
outward and visible sign to himself of his secret vows ;
and a return to its opposite, however mildly done,
signified with ceremonious distinctness them^rmal accep-
tance of delectations long forsworn.

But the exceeding freshness of his feeling for Paula,
which by reason of its long arrest was that of a man far
under thirty, and was a wonder to himself every instant,
would not long brook weighing in balances. He wished
suddenly to commit himself; to remove the question of
retreat out of the region of debate. The dxxk struck
two: and the wish became determination. He arose,
and wrapping himself in his dressing-gown went to the
next room, where he took from a Atit in the pantry
304

DE STANCY

several large bottles, which he carried to the v^indow, till
they stood on the sill a goodly row. There had. been
sufficient light in the room for him to do this without a
candle. Now he softly opened the sash, and the radiance
of a gibbous moon riding in the opposite sky flooded the
apartment. It fell on the labels of the captain’s bottles,
revealing their contents to be simple aerated waters for
drinking.

De Stancy looked out and listened. The guns that
stood drawn up within the yard glistened in the moon-
light reaching them from over the barrack-wall: there
was an occasional stamp of horses in the stables ; also a
measured tread of sentinels — one or more at the gates, ,
one at the hospital, one between the wings, two at the
magazine, and others further off. Recurring to his
intention he drew the corks of the mineral waters, and
inverting each bottle one by one over the window-sill,
heard its contents dribble in a small stream On to the
gravel below.

He then opened the hamper which Dare had sent.
Uncorking one of the bottles he murmured, ‘ To Paula ! ’
and drank a glass of the ruby liquor.

* A man again after eighteen years,’ he said, shutting
the sash and returning to his bedroom.

The first overt result of his kindled interest in Miss
Power was his saying to his sister the day after the
surreptitiou%tfight of Paula : < 1 am sorry, Charlotte, for
a word or two I said the other day.’

‘Well?’

‘I was rather disrespectful to your friend Miss
Power.’

* I don’t think so — were you ? ’

‘ Yes. When we were walking in the wood, I made
a stupid joke about her. . . . What does she know
about me — do you ever speak of me to her?

‘ Only in genentl tenns/

'What general terms?’

ao5

A LAODICEAN

‘ You know well enough, William ; of your idiosyn-
crasies and so on — that you are a bit of a woman-hater,
or at least a confirmed bachelor, and have but little
respect for your own faniil).*

‘ I wish you had not told her that,’ said De Stancy
with dissatisfaction.

‘ But I thought you always liked women to know your
principles ! ’ said Charlotte, in injured tones ; ‘ and
would particularly like her to know them, living so near.’

‘Yes, yes,* replied her brother hastily. ‘Well, I
ought to see her, just to show her that 1 am not quite
a brute.'

‘That would be very nice!’ she answered, putting
her hands together in agreeable astonishment. ‘It is
just wliat I have wished, though I did not dream of
suggesting it after what I have heard you say. I am
going to stay with her again to-morrow, and I will let
her know about this.’

‘ Don’t tell her anything plainly, for heaven^s sake.
I really want to see the interior of the castle; I have
never entered its walls since my babyhood.’ He raised
his eyes as he spoke to where the walls in question
showed their ashlar faces over the trees.

‘ You might have gone over it at any time.*

*0 yes. It is only recently that I have thought
much of the place: I feel now that I should like to
examine the old building thoroughly, since it was for so
many generations associated with our fortunes, especially
as most of the old furniture is still there. My sedulous
avoidance hitherto of all relating to our family vicissi-
tudes has been, 1 own, stupid conduct for an intdligent
being; but impossible grapes are always sour, and I
have unconsciously adopted Radical notions to obliter-
ate disappointed hereditary instincts. But these have a
trick of re-establishing themsdves as one gets older, and
the castle and what it contains have a keen interest for
me now.’

2o6

DE STANCY

‘ It contains Paula/

De Stancy’s pulse, which hacl been beating languidly
for many years, beat double at the sound of that name.

‘ I meant furniture and pictures for the moment,’ he
said ; ‘ but I don’t mind extending the meaning to her,
if you wish it.’

‘ She is the rarest thing there.’

‘ So you have said before.’

‘The castle and our family history have as much
lomantic interest for her as they have for you,’ Charlotte*
went on. ‘She delights in visiting our tombs and
effigies, and ponders over them for hours.’

‘ Indeed ’ ’ said De Stancy, allowing his surprise to
hide tlie satisfaction which accompanied it. ‘ That should
make us friendly. . , . Does she see many people?*

‘Not many as yet. And she cannot have many
staying there during the alterations.’

‘ Ah ! yes — the alterations. Didn’t you say that she
has had a London architect stopping there on that
account ? What was he — old or young ? ’

‘He is a young man: he has been to our house.
Don’t you remember you met him there ^ ’

‘ What was his name ? ’

‘ Mr. Somerset.’

‘ O, that man ! Yes, yes, I remember, . . . Hullo,
Lottie ! ’

‘What?’

‘Your face is as red as a peony. Now I know a
secret ! * Charlotte vainly endeavoured to hide her con-
fusion. ‘ Very well, — not a word ! I won’t say more,’
continued De Stancy goodrhumouredly, ‘ except that he
seems to be a very nice fellow.’

De Stancy had turned the dialogue on to this little
wdl-preserved secret of his sbtei/s with sufficient out-
ward lightness ; but it had been done in instinctive con*
cealment of the disquieting start with which he had
recognized that Somerset, Dare’s enemy, whom he had
207

A LAODICEAN

intercepted in placing Dare’s portrait into the hands
of the chief constable, was a man beloved by his sister
Charlotte. This novel circumstance might lead to a
curious complication. But he was to hear more.

‘He may be very nice,’ replied Charlotte, with an
effort, after this silence. ‘But he is nothing to me.
more than a very good friend.’

‘ There’s no engagement, or thought of one between
you?*

* ‘Certainly there’s not!* said Charlotte, with brave
emphasis. ‘ It is more likely to be between Paula and
him than me and him.’

De Stancy’s bare military ears and closely cropped
poll flushed hot. ‘ Miss Power and him ? *

‘ I don’t mean to say there is, because Paula denies
it ; but I mean that he loves Paula. That I do know.’

De Stancy was dumb. I’his item of news which
Dare had kept from him, not knowing how far De
Stancy’s sense of honour might extend, was decidedly
grave. Indeed, he was so greatly impressed with the
fact, that he could not help saying as much aloud :
‘ This is very serious > *

‘ Why 1 * she murmured tremblingly, for the first
leaking out of her tender and sworn secret had disabled
her quite.

‘ Because I love Paula too.’

‘What do you say, William, you?— a woman you
have never seen ? ’

‘ I have seen her — by accident. And now, my dear
little sis, you will be my close ally, won’t you ? as I will
be yours, as brother and sister should be.’ He placed
his arm coaxingly round Charlotte’s shoulder.

‘ O, William, how can I ? * at last she stammered.

‘ Why, how can’t you ? I should say. We are both
in the same ship. I love Paula, you love Mr. Somerset ;
it behoves both of us to see thgt this flirtation of theirs
ends in nothing.* ,

208

DE STANCY

<I don’t like you to put it like that — that I love
him — it frightens me/ murmured the girl, visibly
agitated. * I don’t want to divide him from Paula ; 1
couldn’t, I wouldn’t do anything to separate them.
Believe me, Will, I could notl I am Sony you love
there also, though I should be glad if it happened in
the natural order of events that she should come round
to you. But I cannot do anything to part them and
make Mr. Somerset suffer. It would be fco wrong and
blamable.’

‘Now, you silly Charlotte, that’s just how you
women fly off at a tangent. I mean nothing dis-
honourable in the least. Have I ever prompt^ you
to do anything dishonourable ? Fair fighting allies was
all I thought off.’

Miss De Stancy breathed more freely. ‘Yes, we
will be that, of course j we are always that, William.
But I hope I can be your ally, and be quite neutral;
I would so much rather.’

‘Well, I suppose it will not be a breach of your
precious neutrality if you get me invited to see the
castle ? ’

‘ O no ! ’ she said brightly ; ‘ I don’t mind doing
such a thing as that. Why not come with me to-
morrow? I will say I am going to bring you. There
will be no trouble at all.’

De Stancy readily agreed. The effect upon him of
the information now acquired was to intensify his ardour
tenfold, the stimulus l^ing due to a perception that
Somerset, with a little more knowledge, would hold a
card which could be played with disastrous effect
against himself — his relationship to Dare. Its dis-
closure, to a lady of such Puritan antecedents as
Paula’s, would probably mean her immediate severance
from himself as an unclean thing.

‘ Is Miss Power a severe pietist, or precisian ; or is
she a compromising lady ? ’ he asked abruptly.

209

o

A LAODICEAN

♦She is severe and uncompromising — if you mean
in her judgments on morals/ said Charlotte, not quite
hearing. The remark was peculiarly apposite, and De
Stancy was silent.

He spent some following hours in a close study of
the castle history, which till now had unutterably bored
him. More particularly did he dwell over documents
and notes which referred to the pedigree of his own
family. He wrote out the names of all — and they were
many — who had been born within those domineering
walls since their first erection; of those among them
who had been brought thither by marriage with the
owner, and of stranger knights and gentlemen who
had entered the castle by marriage with its mistress.
He refreshed his memory on the strange loves and
hates that had arisen in the course of the family
history; on memorable attacks, and the dates oi
the same, the most memorable among them being the
occasion on whicli the party represented by Paula
battered down the castle walls that she was now about
to mend, and, as he hoped, return in their original
intact shape to the family dispossessed, by marriage
with himself, its living representative.

In Sir William’s villa were small engravings after
many of the portraits in the castle galleries, some of
them hanging in the dining-room in plain oak and
maple frames, and others preserved in portfolios*
De Stancy spent much of his time over these, and in
getting up the romances of their originals’ lives from
memoirs and other records, all which stories were as
great novelties to him as they could possibly be to any
stranger. Most interesting to him was the life of an
Edward De Stancy, who had lived just before the
Civil Wars, and to whom Captain De Stancy bore a
very traceable likeness. This ancestor had a mole on
his cheek, black and distinct as a fly in cream; and
as in the case of the first Lord Amherst’s wart, and
310

DB STANCy

Bennet Earl of Arhngton’s nose-scar, painter had
faithfully reproduced the defect on ‘canvas. It so
happened that the captain had a mole, though not
exactly on the same spot of his &ce; and this made
the resemblance still greater.

He took inhnite trouble srith dress that day,
showing an amount of anxiety on the matter wbidi for
him was quite abnormal. At last, when folly equipped,
he set out with his sister to make the caU proposed.
Charlotte was rather unhappy at sight of her brother’s
earnest attempt to make an impression on Paula ; but
she could say nothing i^ainst it, and they proceeded
on their way

It was the darkest of November weather, when foe
days are so short that morning seems to join with
Cloning without the intervention of noon. The sky
W.IS lined with low cloud, within whose dense substance
tempests were slowly fermenting for the coming days.
Even now a wmdy turbulence troubled the half-naked
boughs, and a lonely leaf would occasionally spin
downwards to rejoin on the grass the scathed multi-
tude of its comrades which had preceded it in its fall.
'Fhe river by the pavilion, in the summer so clear and
purling, now shd onwards brown and thick and silent,
and enlarged to double size.

A LAODICEAN

II

M EANWHILE Paula was alone. Of any one else it
would have been said that she must be finding the after-
noon rather dreary in the quaint halls not of her fore-
fathers : but of Miss Power it was unsafe to predicate
so surely. She walked from room to room in a black
velvet dress which gave decision to her outline without
depriving it of softness. She occasionally clasped her
hands behind her head and looked out of a window ;
but she more particularly bent her footsteps up and
down the Long Gallery, where she had caused a large
fire of logs to be kindled, in her endeavour to extend
cheerfulness somewhat beyond the precincts of the
sitting-rooms.

The fire glanced up on Paula, and Paula glanced
down at the fire, and at the gnarled beech fuel, and at
the wood-lice which ran out from beneath the bark to
the extremity of the logs as the heat approached them.
The low-down ruddy light spread over the dark floor
like the setting sun over a moor, fluttering on the
grotesque countenances of the bright andiron's, and
touching all the furniture on the underside.

She now and then crossed to one of the deep embra-
sures of the windows, to decipher some sentence from a
letter she held in h^r hand. The daylight would have
been more than sufficient for any l^stander to discern
212

DE STANCY

that the capitals in that letter were of the peculiar semi-
gothic type affected at the time by Somerset and other
young architects of his school in their epistolary corres-
pondence. She was very possibly thinking of him, even
when not reading his letter, for the expression of soft-
ness with which she perused the page was more or less
\sith her when she appeared to examine other things.

She walked about for a little time longer, then put
away the letter, looked at the clock, and thence returned
to the windows, straining her eyes over the landscape
without, as she murmured, wish Charlotte was not
so long coming ! ’

As Charlotte continued to keep away, Paula l)ecame
less reasonable in her desires, and proceeded to wish
that Somerset would arrive; then that anybody would
come ; then, walking towards the portraits on the wall,
she flippantly asked one of those cavaliers to oblige her
fancy for company by stepping down from his frame.
I'he temerity of the request led her to prudently with-
draw it almost as soon as conceived : old paintings had
been said to play queer tricks in extreme cases, and the
shadows this afternoon were funereal enough for any-
thing in the shape of revenge on an intruder who em-
bodied the antagonistic modern spirit to such an extent
as she. However, Paula still stood before the picture
which had attracted her; and this, by a coincidence
common enough in fact, though scarcely credited in
chronicles, happened to be that one of the seventeenth-
century portraits of which De Stancy had studied the
engraved copy at Myrtle Villa the same morning.

Whilst she remained before the picture, wondering
her favourite wonder, how would she feel if this and
its accompanying canvases were pictures of her own
ance.<tors, she was surprised by a light footstep upon
the carpet which covered part of the room, and turning
quickly she beheld the sm^ng little figure of Charlotte
De Stancy.

213

A LAODICEAN

* What has made you so late ? ’ said Paula. * You
are come to stay^ of course ? ’

Charlotte said she had come to stay. * But I have
brought somebody with me * *

* Ah — ^whom ? ’

‘ My brother happened to be at home^ and I have
brought him.’

Miss De Stancy’s brother had been so continuously
absent from home in India, or elsewhere, so little spoken
of, and, when spoken of, so truly though unconsciously
represented as one whose interests lay wholly outside
this antiquated neighbourhood, that to Paula he had
been a mere nebulosity whom she had never distinctl>
outlined. ^ To have him thus cohere into substance at a
moment’s notice lent him the novelty of a new creation.

‘Is he in the drawing-room?’ said Paula in a low voice.

‘No, he is here. He would follow me. I hope
you will forgive him,’

And then Paula saw emerge into the red beams of
the dancing fire, from behind a half-drawn hanging
which screened the door, the military gentleman whose
acquaintance the reader has already made.

‘ You know the house, doubtless, Captain De
Stanqr?’ said Paula, somewhat shyly, when he had
been presented to her.

‘ I have never seen the inside since I was three weeks
old,’ replied the artillery officer gracefully ; * and hence
my recollections of it are not remarkably distinct. A
year or two before 1 was born the entail was cut off
by my fiither and grandfather; so that I saw the
venerable place only to lose it ; at least, I believe that’s
the truth of the case. But my knowledge of the trans-
action is not profound, and it is a ddicate point on
which to question one’s father.’

Paula assented, and looked at the interesting and
noble f^ure of 'tite man whose parents had seemingly
righted thema^ves at the expense of wronging him.

DB STANCY

<The pictured and furniture were sold about the
same time, I think ? ’ said Charlotte.

'Yes,’ murmured De Stancy. * They went in a mad
bargain of my father with his visitor, as they sat over
their wine. My fether sat down as host on that
occasion, and arose as guest’

He seemed to speak with such a courteous absence
of regret for the alienation, that Paula, who was always
fearing that the recollection would rise as a painful
shadow between hersdf and the De Stancys, felt re-
assured by his magnammity.

De Stancy looked with interest round the gallery ;
seeing which Paula said she would have lights brought
in a moment.

‘ No, please not,’ said De Stancy. * The room and
oursdves are of so much more interesting a colour by
this light 1 *

As they moved hither and thither, the various ex-
pressions of De Stancy’s face made themselves pictur-
esquely visible in the unsteady shine of the blaze. In
a short time he had drawn near to the painting of the
ancestor whom he so greatly resembled. When her
quick eye noted the spe^ on the face, indicative of in-
herited traits strongly pronounced, a new and romantic
feeling that the De Stancys had stretched out a tentacle
from their genealogical tree to seize her by the hand
and draw her in to their mass took possession of Paula.
As has been said, the De Stancys were a family on
whom the hall-mark of membership was deeply stamped,
and by the present light the representative under the
portrait and the representative in the portrait seemed
beings not &r removed. Paula was continually starting
from a reverie and speaking irrelevantly, as if such
reflectiians as those seized hold of her in spite of her
natural unconcern.

When candles were brought in Captain De Stam^
ardently contrived to make the pictises the fysfKUb of
ais

A LAODICEAN

conversation. From the nearest th^ went to the next,
whereupon Paula as hostess took up one of the candle-
sticks and held it aloft to light up the painting. The
candlestick being tall and heavy, De Stancy relieved
her of it, and taking another candle^ in the other hand,
he imperceptibly sUd into the position of exhibitor
rather than spectator. Thus he walked in advance,
holding the two candles on high, his shadow forming
a gigantic figure on the neighbouring wall, while he
recited the particulars of family history pertaining to
each portrait, that he had learnt up with such eager
persistence during the previous four-and-twenty-hours.

* I have often wondered what could have been the
history of this lady, but nobody has ever been able to
tell me,’ Paula observed, pointing to a Vandyck which
represented a beautiful woman wearing curls across her
forehead, a square-cut bodice, and a heavy pearl neck-
lace upon the smooth expanse of her neck.

* 1 don’t think anybody knows,’ Charlotte said.

‘O yes,’ replied her brother promptly, seeing with
enthusiasm that it was yet another opportunity for
making capital of his acquired knowledge, with wMch
he felt himself as inconveniently crammed as a candi-
date for a government examination. ‘That lady has
been largely celebrated under a fancy name, though she
is comparatively little known by her own. Her parents
were the chief ornaments of the almost irreproachable
court of Charles the First, and were not more dis-
tinguished their politeness and honour than by the
affections and virtues which constitute the great charm
of private life.’

The stock vertnage of the family memoir was some-
what apparent in this effusion ; but it much impressed
his listeners ; and he went on to point out that from
the lady’s necklace was suspended a heart-shaped
portrait — ^that of the man who broke his heart by her
persistent refusal ^to ' encourage his suit De Stancy

2X6

DE 8TANCY

then led them a little further, where hung a portrait
of the lover, one of his own family, who appeared
in full panoply of 'plate mail, the pommel of his sword
standing up under his elbow. The gallant captain
then related how jthis personage of his line wooed
the lady fruitlessly; how, after her marriage with
another, she and her huslknd visited the parents of
the disappointed lover, the then occupiers of the castle;
how, in a fit of desperation at the sight of her, he
retired to his room, where he composed some passionate
verses, which he wrote with his blood, and after direct-
ing them to her ran himself through the body^th
his sword. Too late the lady’s heart was touched by
his devotion ; she was ever after a melancholy woman,
and wore his portrait despite her husband’s prohibition.
*This,’ continued De Stancy, leading them through
the doorway into the hall where the coats of mail were
arranged along the wall, and stopping opposite a suit
which bore some resemblance to that of the portrait,
* this is his armour, as you will perceive by comparing
it with the picture, and this is the sword with which
he did the rash deed.’

‘ What unreasonable devotion I ’ said Paula practi-
cally. < It was too romantic of him. She was not
w'orthy of such a sacrifice.’

* He also is one whom they say you resemble a little
in feature, 1 think,’ said Charlotte.

*Do they?’ replied De Stancy. ‘I wonder if it’s
true.’ He set down the candles, and asking the girls
to withdraw for a moment, was inside the upper part of
the suit of armour in incredibly quick time. Going
then and placing himself in front of a low-hanging paint-
ing near the original, so as to be enclosed by the frame
while covering tbe figure, arranging the swoid as in the
one above, and setting the light that it might fall in
the right direction, he recalled them; when he put the
question, * I& the resemblance strong ? ’
ai7

A LAODICEAN

He looked so much like a man of bygone times that
neither of them repliedi but remained curiously gazing
at him. His modem and comparatively sallow oom-
plesdon, as seen through the open visor, lent an ethereal
ideality to his appearance which the time-stained coun-
tenance of the original warrior totally lacked.

At last Paula spoke, so stilly that she seemed a statue
enunciating : * Are the verses known that he wrote with
his blood ? '

‘ O yes, they have been carefully preserved.’ Captain
De Stancy, with true wooer’s instinct, had committed
some of them to memory that morning from the printed
copy to be found in every well-ordered library. < I fear
1 don’t remember them dl,’ he said, ‘ but they b^n in
this way : —

** From one that dyeth in his discontent,

Dear Faire, receive this greeting to thee sent ;

And still as oft as it is read by thee,

Then with some deep sad sigh remember mec !

O ’twas my fortune’s error to vow dutie,

To one that bears defiance in her beautie 1
Sweete poyson, pretious wooe, infectious jewell—
Such is a Ladie that is faire and cruell.

How well could I with ayre, camelion-like,

Live happie, and still gaceing on thy cheeke.

In which, forsaken man, methink 1 see
How goodlie love doth threaten cares to mee.

Why dost thou frowne thus on a kneelinge soule^
Whose &ults in love thou may’st as well controule^—
In love — but O, that word ; that word 1 feare
Is hateful still both to thy hart and eare !

Ladie, in breefe, my &te doth now intend
The period of my daies to have an end :

Waste not oa me thy pitdeb pretious Faire ;

Reft you Sn much content ; I, in despaire ! ” ’

sz8

DB STANCY

A solemn silence followed the dAse of the recital,
which De Stancy improved 1^ ttuning the point of the
sword to his breast, resting the pommel upon the' floor,
and saying : — ^

* After writing that we may picture him turning this
same sword in this same way, and falling on it thus.’
He inclined his body forward as he spoke.

‘Don’t, Captain De Stancy, please don’t!’ cried
Paula involunt^y.

‘ No, don’t show us any further, William • ’ said his
sister. ‘ It is too tragic.’

De Stancy put away the sword, himself rather eacited
— not, however, by his own recital, but by the direct
gaze of Pauk at him.

This Protean quality of De Stanc/s, by means of
which he could assume the shape and situation of almost
any ancestor at will, had impressed her, and he per-
ceived it with a throb of fervour. But it had done no
more than impress her; for though in delivering the
lines he had so fixed his look upon her as to suggest,
to any maiden practised in the game of the eyes, a
present significance in the words, ^e idea of any such
arriire-penske had by no means commended itself to
her soul.

At this time a messenger from Markton barracks
arrived at the castle and wished to speak to Captain
De Stancy in the hall. Begging the two ladies to excuse
him for a moment, he went out.

While De Stancy was talking in the twilight to the
rowsenger at one end of the apartment, some other
arrivarwas shown in by the side door, and in making
his way after the conference across the hall to the room
he had previously quitted, De Stancy encountered the
new-comer. There was just enough light to reveal the
countenance to be Dare’s; he bore a portfolio under
his arm, and had begun to wear a moustaches in case
the chief constable should meet him anywhere in his
ai9

A LAODICEAN

rambles^ and be struck by his resemblance to the man
in the studio.

« What the devil are you doing here ? * said Captain
De Stancy, in tones he had never used before to the
young man.

Dare started back in surprise, and naturally so. De
Stancy, having adopted a new system* of living, and
relinquished the meagre diet and enervating waters of
his past years, was rapidly recovering tone. His voice
was firmer, his cheeks were less pallid ; and above all
he was authoritative towards his present companion,
whose ingenuity in vamping up a being for his ambitious
experiments seemed about to be rewarded, like Franken-
stein’s, by his discomfiture at the hands of his own
creature.

‘ What the devil are you doing here, I say ? ' repeated
De Stancy.

< You can talk to me like that, after my working so
hard to get you on in life, and make a rising man of
you!' expostulated Dare, as one who felt himself no
longer the leader in this enterprise.

‘ But,’ said the captain less harshly, ‘ if you let them
discover any relations between us here, you will ruin
the fairest prospects man ever had ! ’

‘O, I like that, captain — when you owe all of it
to me!’

* That’s too cool, Will’

* No ; what 1 say is true. However, let that go. So
now you are here on a call ; but how are you going to
get here often enough to win her before the other man
comes back? If you don’t see her every day— twice,
three times a day — you will not capture her in the
time.’

' 1 must think of that,’ said De Stancy.

* There is only one way of being constantly here:
you must come to copy the pictures or furniture, some-
thing in the way he fMd.’

220

Dfi STANCY

‘ ril think of it/ muttered De Sttmcy hastily, as he
heard the voices of the ladies, whom he hastened to join
as they were appearing at the other end of the room.
His countenance was gloomy as he recrossed the hall,
for Dare’s words on the shortness of his opportunities
had impressed him. Almost at once he uttered a hope
to Paula that he might have further chance of studying,
and if possible of copying, some of the ancestral faces
with which the building abounded.

Meanwhile Dare had come forward with his portfdlio^^
which proved to be full of photographs. While Pauh
and Charlotte were examining them he said to^De
Stancy, as a stranger: ‘Excuse my interruption, sir,
but if you should think of copying any of the portraits,
as you were stating just now to the ladies, my patent
photographic process is at your service^ and is, I believe,
the only one which would ^ eflertual in the dim indoor
lights.’

‘ It is just what I was tliinking of,’ said De Stancy,
now so far cooled down from his irritation as to be quite
ready to accept Dare’s adroitly suggested scheme.

On application to Paula she immediately gave De
Stancy permission to photograph to any extent, and told
Dare he might bring his instruments as soon as Captain
De Stancy required them.

‘ Don’t stare at her in such a brazen way!’ whispered
the latter to the young man, when Paula had with-
drawn a few steps. ‘Say, “I shall highly value the
privilege of assisting Captain De Stancy in such a
work.” ’

Dare obeyed, and before leaving De Stancy arranged
to begin performing on his venerated forefathers the
next morning, the youth so accidentally engaged agree-
ing to be there at the same time to assist in the technical
operations.

A LAODICEAN

ni

As he had promised, De Stancy made use the next
day of the coveted permission tlmt had been brought
about by the ingenious Dare. Dare’s timely sugges-
tion of tendering assistance had the practical residt of
relieving the other of all necessity for occupying his
time with the proceeding, further than to bestow a
perfunctory superintendence now and then, to give a
colour to his regular presence in the fortress, the actual
work of taking copies being carried on by the younger
man.

The weather was frequently wet during these opera-
tions, and Paula, Miss De Stancy, and her brother,
were olften in the house whole mornings together.
By constant urging and coaxing the latter would in-
duce his gentle sister, much against her* conscience, to
leave him opportunities for speaking to Paula alone.
It was mostly before some print or painting that these
conversations occurred, while De Stancy was ostensibly
occupied with its merits, or in giving directions to his
photographer how to proceed. As soon as the duSogue
began, the latter would withdraw out of earshot, leaving
Paula to imagine him the most deferential young artist
in the world.

‘You will soon possess dupheates of the whole
gallery,’ she said^ on one of these occasions, examining

2t2

DB STANCY

some curled sheets which Dare had printed ofT from
the negatives.

* No,’ said the soldier. ‘ I shall not have patience
to go on. I get ill-humoured and indifferent, and then
leave off,’

‘ Why ill-humoured ? *

* 1 scarcely know — more than that 1 acquire a general
sense of my own family’s want of merit through seeing
how meritorious the people are around me. I see
them happy and thriving without any necessity for me
at all ; and then I regard these canvas grandfathers and
grandmothers, and ask, Why was a line so antiquated
and out of date prolonged till now ? ” ’

She chid hipi good-naturedly for such views. ‘ They
wiU do you an injury,’ she declared. * Do spare your-
self, Captain De Stancy ! ’

De Stancy shook his head as he turned the painting
before him a little further to the light.

‘But, do you know,’ said Paula, ‘that notion of
yours of being a family out of date is delightful to some
people. 1 talk to Charlotte about it often. I am never
weary of examining those canopied effigies in the church,
and almost wish they were those of my relations.’

‘ I will try to see things in the same light for your
sake,’ said De Stancy fervently.

‘ Not for my sake ; for your own was what I meant,
of course,’ she replied with a repressive air.

Captain De Stancy bowed.

‘What are you going to do with your photographs
when you have them ? ’ she asked, as if still anxious to
obliterate the previous sentimental lapse.

‘ l^shall put them into a large album, and carry them
with me in my campaigns ; and may I ask, now 1 have
an opportunity, that you would extend your permission
to copy a little further, and let me photograph one
other painting that hangs in the castle, to fittingly
compl^ my set?’

sag

A LAODICEAN

‘Which?*

‘That half-length of a lady which hangs in the
morning-room. I remember seeing it in the Academy
last year.*

Paula involuntarily closed herself up. The picture
was her own portrait. ‘It does not belong to your
series/ she said somewhat coldly.

De Stancy’s secret thought was, I hope from my
soul it will belong some day! He answered with
mildness : ‘ There is a sort of connection — ^you are my
sister’s friend.*

Paula assented.

‘ And hence, might not your friend’s brother photo-
graph your picture ? *

Paula demurred.

A gentle sigh rose from the bosom of De Stancy.
‘What is to become of me?* he said, with a light dis-
tressed laugh. ‘ I am always inconsiderate and inclined
to ask too much. Forgive me I What was in my mind
when I asked I dare not say.*

‘I quite understand your interest in your family
pictures— and all of it,* she remarked more gently, will-
ing not to hurt the sensitive feelings of a man so full of
romance.

‘ And in that one he said, looking devotedly at her.
‘ If I had only been fortunate enough to include it with
the rest, my album would indeed have been a treasure
to pore over by the bivouac fire ! *

* O, Captain De Stancy, this is provoking persever-
ance ! * cried Paula, laughing half crossly. * I expected
that after expressing my decision so plainly the first time
I should not have been further urged upon the subject.*
Saying which she turned and moved decisively away.

It had not been a productive meeting, thus far.
‘One word)’ said De Stancy, following and almost
clasping her hand. ‘1 have given offence^ I know:
but do let it alUfall on my own head— don’t tell my
224

DE 8TANCY

sister of my misbehaviour 1 She loves you deeply, and
it would wouifii her to the heart.*

*You deserve to be told upon,* said Paula as. she
withdrew, with just enough playfulness to show that her
anger was not too serious.

Charlotte looked at Paula uneasily when the latter
joined her in the drawing-room. She- wanted to say,
^ What is the matter ? ’ but guessing that her brother had
something to do with it, forbore to speak at first. She
could not contain her anxiety long. ‘ Were you talking
with my brother ? ' she said.

‘Yes,* returned Paula, with reservation. However,
she soon added, ‘ He not only wants to photograph his
ancestors, but tfty portrait too. They are a dreadfully
encroaching sex, and perhaps being in the army makes
them worse 1 *

* 1*11 give him a hint, and tell him to be careful.*

‘ Don’t say I have definitely complained of him ; it
is not worth while to do that ; the matter is too trifling
for repetition. Upon the whole, Charlotte, I would
rather you said nothing at all.*

De Stancy’s hobby of photographing his ancestors
seemed to become a perfect mania with him. Almost
every morning discovered him in the larger apartments
of the castle, taking down and rehanging the dilapidated
pictures, with the assistance of the indispensable Dare ;
his fingers stained black with dust, and Ids face express-
ing a busy attention to the work in hand, though always
reserving a look askance for the presence of Paula. '
Though there was something of subterfuge, there was
no deep and double subterfuge in all this. De Stancy
took no particular interest in his ancestral portraits ; but
he was enamoured of Paula to weakness. Perhaps the
composition of his love would hardly bear looking into,
but it was recklessly frank and not quite mercenary.
His photographic scheme was nothing worse than a
lover’s not too scrupulous contrivance. After tlie re-
ars p

A LAODICEAN

fussd of his request to copy her picture he fumed and
fretted at the prospect of Somerset’s return before any
impression had been made on her heart by himself; he
swore at Dare, and asked him hotly why he had dragged
him into such a hopeless dilemma as this.

‘ Hopeless ? Somerset must still be kept away, so
that it is not hopeless. I will consider how to prolong
his stay.’

Thereupon Dare considered.

The time was coming — ^had indeed come — when it
was necessary for Paula to make up her mind about her
architect, if she meant ^to begin building in the spring.
The two sets of plans, Somerset’s and Havill’s, were
hanging on the walls of the room that had been used by
Somerset As his studio, and were acessible by anybody.
Dare took occasion to go and study both sets, with a
view to finding a fl|LW in Somerset’s which might have
been passed over unnoticed by the committee of archi-
tects, owing to their absence from the actual site. But
not a blunder could he find.

He neict went to Havill ; and here he was met by an
amazing state of affairs. Havill’s creditors, at last sus-
pecting something mythical in Havill’s assurance that
the grand commission was his, had lost all patience ;
his house was turned upside-down, and a poster gleamed
on the front wall, stating that the excellent modem
household furniture was to be sold by auction on Friday
next. Troubles had apparently come in'' battalions, for
Dare was informed by a bystander that Havill’s wife was
seriously ill also.

Without staying for a moment to enter his friend’s
house, back went Mr. Dare to the castle, and told
Captain De Stancy of the architect’s desperate circum-
stances, begging him to convey the news in some way
to Miss Power. De Stancy promised to make repre-
sentations in the proper quarter without perceiving that
he was doing the best possible deed for himsdf thereby.

, 226

DB STANCY

He told Paula of Havill’s imsfbrtunes in the presence
of his sister, who turned pale. She discerned how this
misfortune would bear upon the undecided competition.

< Poor man,’ murmured Paula. * He was my father’s
architect, and somehow expected, though I did not
promise it, the work of rebuilding the castle.’

Then De Stancy saw Dare’s aim in sending him to
Miss Power with the news ; and, seeing it, concuned :
Somerset was his rival, and all was fair. < And is he
not to have the work of the castle after expecting it ? ’
he asked.

Paula was lost in reflection. * * The other architect’s
design and Mr. Havill’s are exactly equal in merit, and
we cannot d^de how to give it to either,’ expldned
Charlotte. ^

< That is our difficulty,’ Paula murmured. * A bank-
rupt, and his wife ill — dear me! wonder what’s the
cause.’

‘ He has borrowed on the expectation of having to
execute the castle works, and now he is unable to meet
his liabilities.’

* It is very sad,’ said Paula.

* Let me suggest a remedy for this dead-lock,’ said
De Stancy. •

* Do,’ said Paula.

‘ Do the work of building in two halves or sections.
Give Havill the first half, since he is in need; when
that is finished the second half can be given to your
London architect. If, as I understand, the plans are
identical excq>t in ornamental details, there will be no
difficulty about it at all.’

Paula sighed — just a little one; and yet the sugges-
tion seemed to satisfy her its reasonableness. She
turned sad, wayward, but was impressed by De Stancy’s
manner and words. She appeared inde^ to have a
smouldering desire to please him. In the afternoon she
said to Charlotte, ' I mean to do as your brother says.’

227

A LAODICEAN

A note was despatched to Havill that very day, and
in an hour the crestfallen architect presented himself at
the castle. Paula instantly gave him audience, com^
iniserated him, and commissioned him to carry out a
first section of the buildings, comprising work to the
extent of about twenty thousand pounds expenditure ;
and then, with a prematureness quite amazing among
architects* clients, she handed him over a cheque for
five hundred pounds on account.

When he had gone, Paula*s bearing showed some
sign of being disquieted at what she had done ; but she
covered her mood und^r a cloak of saucy serenity. Per-
haps a tender remembrance of a certain thunderstorm
in the foregoing August when she stood with Somerset
in the arbour, and did not own that she loved him, was
pressing on her memory and bewildering her. She had
not seen quite dearly, in adopting De Stancy’s suggestion,
that Somerset would now have no professional reason
for being at the castle for the next twelve months.

But the captain had, and when Havill entered the
castle he rejoiced with great joy. Dare, too, rejoiced
in his cold way, and went on with his photography,
saying, * The game progresses, captain.’

‘ Game ? Call it Divine Comedy, rather ! * said the
soldier exultingly.

< He is practically banished for ^ year or more. What
can’t you do in a year, captain ! ’

Havill, in the meantime, having respectfully with-
drawn from the presence of Paula, passed by Dare and
De Stancy in the gallery as he had done in entering.
He spoke a few words to Dare, who congratulated him.
While they were talking somebody was heard in the
hall, inquiring hastily for Mr, Havill.

* What shdl I tell him ? ’ demanded the porter.

* His wife is dead,’ said the messenger.

Havill overheard the words, and hastened away.

* An unlucky hnan ! ’ said Dare.

228

DE STANCy

*That, happily for us, will not affect his installation
here/ said De Stancy. 'Now hold your tongue and
keep at a distance. She may come this way.’

Surely enough in a few minutes she came. De
Stancy, to make conversation, told her of the new mis-
fortune which had just befallen Mr. Havill.

Paula was very sorry to hear it, and remarked that
It gave her great satisfaction to have appointed him as
(irchitect of the first wing before he karnt the bad news.
‘ I owe you best thanks, -Captain De Stancy, for showing
me such an expedient.’

‘Do I really deserve thanks?' asked De Stancy.
‘ I wish I deserved a regard ; but I must bear in mind
the fable of the priest and the jester.’

‘ I never heard it.’

‘The jester implored the priest for aims, but the
smallest sum was refused, though the holy man readily
agreed to give him his blessing. Query, its value ? ’

‘ How doe'i it apply ? ’

* You give me unlimited thanks, but deny me the
tiniest substantial trifle I desire.’

‘ What persistence I ’ exclaimed Paula, colouring.
‘ Very well, if you 7vi I photograph my picture you
must. It is really not worthy further ] heading. Take
It when you like.’

AA'hen Paula was alone she seemed vexed with her-
self for having given way ; and rising from her seat she
went quietly to the door of the room containing the
picture, intending to lock it up till further considera-
tion, whatever he might think of her. But on casting
her eyes round the apartment the painting was gone.
The captain, wisely tajdng the current when it served
already had it in the gallery, where he was to be seen
beiiding attentively over it, arranging the lights and
directing Dare with the instruments. On leaving he
thanked her, and said that he had obtained a splendid
copy. Would she look at it ?

229

A LAODICEAN

Paula was severe and icy. < Thank you — I don’t
wish to see it,’ she said.

De Stancy bowed and departed in a glow of triumph ;
satisfied, notwithstanding her fngidity, that he had com-
passed his immediate aim, which was that she might
not be able to dismiss from her thoughts him and his
persevering desire for the shadow of her face during the
next four-and-twenty-hours. And his confidence was
wdl founded : she could not.

‘ I fear this Divine Comedy will be slow business for
us, captain,’ said Dare, who had heard her cold words.

' O no ! ’ said De Stancy, flushing a little : he had
not been perceiving that the lad had the measure of his
mind so entirdy as to gauge his position at any moment.
But he would show no shamefacedness. ‘ Even if it is,
my boy,’ he answered, ‘ there’s plenty of time before the
odier can come.’

At that hour and minute of De Stancy’s remark * the
other,’ to look at him, seemed indeed securely shelved.
He was sitting lonely in his chambers far away, wonder-
ing why she did not write, and yet hoping to hear —
wondering if it had all been but a short-lived strain of
tenderness. He knew as well as if it had been stated
in words that her serious acceptance of him as a suitor
would be her acceptance of him as an architect — ^that
her schemes in love would be expressed in terms of
art ; and conversely that her refusal of hiifl as a lover
would be neatly effected by her choosing Havill’s plans
for the castle, and returning his own with thanks. The
position was so clear ; he was so well walled in by cir-
cumstances that he was absolutely helpless.

To wait for the line that would not come — the
letter saying that, as she had desired, his was the
design that pleas^ her — ^was still the only thing to
do. The (to Somerset) surprising accident that the
committee of archit^ts should have pronounced the
designs absolutely equal in point of merit, and thus
230

DE STANCY

have caused the final choice to revert after all to Paula,
had been a joyous thing to him when he first heard
of it, full of confidence m her fiivour. But the fact of
her having again become the arbitrator, though it had
made acceptance of his plans all &e more probable,
made refusal of them, should it happen, all the mote
crushing. He could have conceived himself fiivoured
by Paula as her lover, even had the committee decided
in favour of Havill as her architect. But not to be
chosen as architect now was to be rejected in both
kinds.

A lAODICBAN

rv

It was the Sunday following the funeral of Mrs. Havill,
news of whose death had been so unexpectedly brought
to her husband at the moment of his exit from Stancy
Castle. The minister, as was his custom, improved the
occasion by a couple of sermons on the uncertainty of
life. One was preached in the morning in the old chapel
of Markton ; the second at evening service in the rural
chapel near Stancy Castle, built by Paula’s father, which
bore to the first somewhat the relation of an episcopal
chapel-of-ease to the mother church.

The unscreened lights blazed through the plate-glass
windows of the smaller building and outshone the steely
stars of the early night, just as they had done when
Somerset was attracted by their glare four months before.
The fervid minister’s rhetoric equalled its force on that
more romantic occasion : but Paula was not there. She
was not a frequent attendant now at her father’s votive
building. The mysterious tank, whose dark waters had
so repelled her at the last moment, was boarded over :
a table stood on its centre, with an open quarto Bible
upon it ; behind which Havill, in a new suit of black, sat
in a large chair. Havill held the office of deacon : and
he had mechanically taken the deacon’s seat as usual
to-night, in the fa^ Of the congregation, and under tho
nose of Mr. Woodwdl.

232

DE 8TANCY

Mr. Woodwell was always glad of an opportunity.
He was gifted with a burning natural eloquence, which,
though perhaps a little too freely employed in exciting
the * Wertherism of the uncultivated,* had in it genuine
power. He was a master of that oratory which no
limitation of knowledge can repress, and which no train-
ing can impart. The neighbouring rector could eclipse
WoodwelPs scholarship, and the freethinker at the corner
shop in Maikton could demolish his logic; but the
Baptist could do in five minutes what neither of these
had done in a lifetime; he could move some of the
hardest of men to tears.

Thus it happened that, when the sermon was fairly
under way, Havill began to feel himself in a trying
position. It was not that he had bestowed much
affection upon his deceased wife, irreproachable woman
as she had been ; but the suddenness of her death had
shaken his nerves, and Mr. WoodwelPs address on the
uncertainty of life involved considerations of conduct
on earth that bore with singular directness upon Havill’s
unprincipled manoeuvre for victory in the castle com-
petition. He wished he had not been so inadvertent as
to take his customary chair in the chapel. People who
saw Havill’s agitation did not know that it was most
largely owing to his sense of the fraud which had been
practised on the unoffending Somerset ; and when, un-
able longer to endure the torture of WoodwelPs words,
he rose from his place and went into the chapel vestiy,
the preacher little thought that remorse for a con-
temptibly unfair act, rather than grief for a dead wife,
was the cause of the architect’s withdrawal.

When Havill got into the open air his morbid excite-
ment calmed down, but a sickening self-abhorrence for
the proceeding instigated by Dare did not abate. To
appropriate another man’s design was no more nor less
than to embezzle his mon^ or steal his goods. The
intense reaction from his conduct of the past ttro or
*33

A LAODICEAN

three months did not leave him when he reached his own
house and observed where the handbills of the counter-
manded sale had been tom down, as ‘the result of the
payment made in advance by Paula of money which
should really have been Somerset’s.

The mood went on intensifying when he was in bed.
He lay awake till the clock reached those still, small,
ghastly hours when the vital fires bum at their lowest in
the human frame, and death seizes more of his victims
than in any other of the twenty-four. Havill could bear
it no longer; he got a light, went down into his office
and wrote the note subjoined.

* Madam, — ^The recent death of my wife necessitates a consider-
able diange in my professional arrangements and plans with regard
to the future. One of the chief results of the change is, I regret to
state, that I no longer find myself in a position to carry out the
enlargement of the castle which you had so generously entrusted to
my hands.

* I beg leave therefore to resign all further connection with the

same, and to express, if you will allow me, a hope that the com-
mission may be placed in the hands of the other competitor. Here-
with is returned a cheque for one-half of the sum so kindly advanced
in anticipation of the commission I should receive ; the other half,
with which I had cleared o£f my immediate embarrassments before
perceiving the necessity for this course, shall be returned to you as
soon as some payments from other clients drop in. — I beg to remain,
Madam, your obedient servant, James Havill.’

Havill would not trust himself till the morning to
post this letter. He scaled it up, went out with it into
the street, and walked through the sleeping town to the
post-office. At the mouth of the box he held the letter
long. By dropping it, he was dropping at least two
thousand five hundred pounds which, however obtained,
were now securely his. It was a great deal to let go ;
and there he stood till another wave of conscience l^re
in upon his soul the absolute nature of the theft, and
made him shudder.*, The footsteps of a soBtary police-
234

DE STANCY

man could be heard nearing him along the deserted
street i hesitation ended, and he let the letter go.

When he awoke in the morning he thought over the
circumstances by the cheerful light of a low eastern sun.
The horrors of the situation seemed much less formid^
able ; yet it cannot be said that he actually regretted his
act. Later on he walked out, with the strange sense pf
being a man who, from one having a large professional
undertaking in hand, had, by his own act, suddenly
reduced himself to an unoccupied nondescript. From
the upper end of the town he saw in the distance the
grand grey towers of Stancy Castle looming over the
leafless trees ; he felt stupefied at what he had done, and
said to himsi^ with bitter discontent : ‘ Well, well, what '
is more contemptible than a half-hearted rogue ! ’

That morning the post-bag had been brought to
Paula and Mrs. Goodman in &e usual way, and Miss
Power read the letter. His resignation was a surprise ;
the question whether he would or would not repay the
money was passed over; the necessity of installing
Somerset after all as sole architect was an agitation, or
emotion, the precise nature of which it is impossible to
accurately define.

However, she went about the house after breakfast
with very much the manner of one who had had a
weight removed either from her heart or from her
conscience ; moreover, her face was a little flushed when,
in passing by Somerset’s late studio, she saw the plans
bearing his motto, and knew that his and not Havill’s
would be the presiding presence in the coming archi-
tectural turmoil. She went on further, and called to
Charlotte, who was now regularly sleeping in the castle,
to accompany her, and together they ascended to the
telegraph-room in the donjon tower.

' Whom are you going to telegraph to ? ’ said Miss
De Stancy when they stood by the instrument.

* My architect.’

235

A LAODICEAN

cQ— Mr. Havill.»

' Mr. Somerset.’

Miss De Stancy had schooled her emotions on that
side cruelly well, and she asked calmly, ‘ What, have you
choseh him after all ? ’

‘There is no choice in it — read that,’ said Paula,
handing Havill’s letter, as if she felt that Providence
had stepped in to shape ends that she was too undecided
or unpractised to shape for herself.

‘It is very strange,’ murmured Charlotte; while
Paula applied herself to the machine and despatched
the words : —

*Miss Power, Stancy Castle, to G. Somerset, Esq., F.S.A.,
F.R.T.B.A., Queen Anne’s Chambers, St. James’s.

* Vour design is accepted in its entirety. It will be necessary to
begin soon. I shall wish to see and consult you on the matter
about the loth instant.*

When the message was fairly gone out of the window
Paula seemed still further to expand. The strange
spell cast over her by something or other — probably the
presence of De Stancy, and the weird romanticism of
his manner towards her, which was as if the historic
past had touched her with a yet living hand — ^in a great
measure became dissipated, leaving her the arch and
serene maiden that she had been before. '

About this time Captain De Stancy and his Achates
were approaching the castle, and had arrived about
fifty paces from the spot at which it was Dare’s custom
to drop behind his companion, in order that their
appearance at the lodge should be that of master and
man.

Dare was saying, as he had said before: ‘I can’t
help fancying, captain, that your approach to this castle
and its mistress is by a very tedious system. Your
trenches, zigzags; counterscarps, and ravelins may be all
236

I>E STANCY

very well, and a very sure system of attack in the Igng
run; but upon my soul they are almost as slow in
maturing as those of Unde Toby himself. For my
part I should be inclined to try an assault.’

‘Don’t pretend to give advice, Willy, on matters
beyond your years.’

‘I only meant it for your good, and your proper
advancement in the world,’ said Dare in wounded tones.

‘ Different characters, different systems,’ returned the
soldier. ‘ This lady is of a reticent, independent, com-
plicated disposition, and any sudden proceeding would
put her on her mettle. You don’t dream what my
impatience is, my boy. It is a thing transcending your,
utmost conceptions! But I proceed slowly; I know
better than to do otherwise. Thank God there is
plenty of time. As long as there is no risk of Somerset’s
return my situation is sure.’

‘ And professional etiquette will prevent him coming
yet. Havill and he will change like the men in a sentry-
box; when Havill walks out, he’ll walk in, and not a
moment before.’

‘ That will not be till eighteen months have passed.
And as the Jesuit said, “ Time and I against any two.”

. . . Now drop to the rear,’ added Captain De Stancy
authoritatively. And they passed under the walls of the
castle.

The grave fronts and bastions were wrapped in
silence ; so much so, that, standing awhile in the inner
ward, they could hear through an open window a faintly
clicking sound from within.

‘ She’s at the telegraph,’ said Dare, throwing forward
his voice softly to the captain. ‘ What can that be for
so early ? That wire is a nuisance, to my mind ; such
constant intercourse with the outer world is bad for our
romance.’

The speaker entered to arrange his photographic
apparatus, of which, in truth, he was getting weary ; and

237

A LAODICEAN

De Stancy smoked on the terxace* till Dare should be
ready, ^ile he waited his sister looked out upon him
from an upper casement, having caught sight of him as
she came from Paula in the telegraph-room.

‘Well, Lotty, what news this morning?* he said
gaily.

‘Nothing of importance. We are quite well.' . . .
She added with hesitation, ‘There is one piece of
news; Mr. Havill — but perhaps you have heard it in
Markton ? '

‘ Nothing.'

‘ Mr. Havill has resigned his appointment as architect
to the castle.'

‘ What ? — who has it, then ? '

‘ Mr. Somerset.’

‘ Appointed ? '

‘ Yes — by telegraph.'

‘ When is he coming ? ’ said De Stancy in constema*
tion.

‘ About the tenth, we think.'

Charlotte was concerned to see her brother’s free,
and withdrew from the window that he might not
question her further. De Stancy went into the hall, and
on to the gallery, where DarS was standing as still as a
caryatid.

‘ I have heard every word,' said Dam*

‘Well, what does it mean? Has that fool Havill
done it on purpose to annoy me? What conceivable
reason can the man have for throwing up an appoint-
ment he has worked so hard for, at the "moment he has
got it, and in the time of his greatest need ? ’

Dare guessed, for he had seen a little way into
Havill’s soul during the brief period of their confederacy.
But he was very far from saying what he guessed. Yet
he unconsciously revealed by oSier words the nocturnal
shades in his character which had made that confederacy
possible. ^

2S«

0E STAMCY

* Somerset coining after all ! ’ he replied. ^ By God !
that little six-barrell^ fritod of mine, and a good resolU'
tioQ, and he would never arrive 1 ’

* What ! ’ said Captain De Stancy, paling with horror
as he gathered the other’s sinister meaning.

Dare instantly recollected himself. * One is tempted
to say anything at such a moment,’ he replied hastily.

‘ Since he is to come^ let him come, for me,’ con-
tinued De Stancy, with reactionary distinctness, and
still gazing gravely into the young man’s &ce. ‘The
battle shall be fairly fought out. Fair play, even to a
rival — remember that, boy. . . . Why are you here? —
unnaturally concerning yoursdf with the passions of a"
man of my age, as if you were the parent, and I the
son? Would to heaven, Willy, you had done as I
wished you to do, and led the life of a steady, thought-
ful young man 1 Instead of meddling here, you should
now have been in some studio, college, or professional
man’s chambers, engaged in a use^ pursuit which
might have made one proud to own you. But you
were so precocious and headstrong; and this is what
you have come to : you promise to be worthless ! ’

‘ I think 1 shall go to my lodgings to-day instead of
staying here over these pictures,’ said Dare, after a
silence, during which Captain De Stancy endeavoured
to calm himself. ‘I was going to tell you that my
dinner to-day will unfortunatdy be one of •herbs, for
want of the needful. I have come to my last stiver.^
You dine at the mess, I suppose, captain ? ’

De Stancy had walked away ; but Dare knew that he
played a pretty sure card in that speech. De Stancy’s
heart could not withstand the suggested contrast between
a lonely meal of bread-and-cheese and a well-ordered
dinner amid cheerful companions. — ‘Here,’ he said,
empt^ng his pocket and returning, to the lad’e side.

* Take this, and Order yoursdf a go^ meal Yon keep
me as poor as a crow. There shSil be more to-mottow.’

A LAODICEAN

The peculiarly bifold nature of Capt^ De Stancy,
as shown in his conduct at different times, was some-
thing rare in life, and perhaps happily so. That
me^anical admixture of black and white qualities
without coalescence, on which the theory of men’s
characters was based by moral analysis before the rise
of modem ethical schools, fictitious as it was in general
application, would have almost hit off the truth as
regards Captain De Stancy. Removed to some half-
known century, his deeds would have won a picturesque-
ness of light and shade that might , have made him
a &scinating subject for some gallery of illustrious
historical personages. It was this tendency to moral
chequer-work which accounted for his varied barings
towards Dare.

Dare withdrew to take his departure. When he had
gone a few steps, despondent, he suddenly turned, and
ran back with some excitement.

‘ Captain — ^he’s coming on the tenth, don’t they say 7
Well, four days before the tendi comes the sixth. Have
you forgotten what’s fixed for the sixth? ’

' I had quite forgotten ! ’

'That day will be worth three months of quiet
attentions: with luck, skill, and a bold heart, what
mayn’t you do?’

Captain De Stancy’s fiice softened with satisfaction.

‘There is sometlung in that; the game is not up
after all. The sixth — it had gone clean out of my head,
IqrgadI'

D£ STANCY

V

T HE cheering message from Paula to Somerset sped
through the loophole of Stancy Castle keep, over the ^
/trees, along the railway, under bridges, across four
counties — ^from extreme antiquity of environment to
sheer modernism — and finally landed itself on a table in
Somerset’s chambers in the midst of a cloud of fog.
He read it and, in the moment of reaction firom thd
depression of his past days, clapped his hands like a
child.

Then he considered the date at which she wanted to
see him. Had she .so worded her despatch he would
have gone that very day; but there was nothing to
complain of in her giving him a week’s notice. Pure
maiden modesty might have checked her indulgence in
a too ardent recall.

Time, however, dragged somewhat heavily along in
the interim, and on the second day he thought he would
call on his lather and tell him of bis success in obtainmg
the appointment.

The dder Mr. Somerset lived in a detadied house
in the north-west part of lashionable London; and
ascending the chief staircase the young man branched
off from the 'first landing and ^ efttered his fiither’s
painting-room. It was an hour when he was pretty
sure* of finding the well-known painter at woA, and
«4i Q

A LAODICEAN

on lifting the tapestry he was not disappointed, Mr*
Somerset being busily engaged with his back towards
the door.

Art and vitiated nature were struggling like wrestlers
in that apartment, and art was getting the worst of it.
The overpowering gloom pervading the clammy air,
rendered still more intense by the height of the window
from the door, reduced all the pictures that were
standing around to the wizened feebleness of corpses
on end. The shadowy parti* of the room behind the
different easels were veiled in a brown vapour, precluding
all estimate of the extent of the studio, and only sub-
dued in the foreground by the ruddy glare from an open
stove of Dutch tiles. Somerset’s footsteps had been sq
noiseless over the carpeting of the stairs and landing,^
that his father was unaware of his presence; he con-
tinued at his work ‘as before, which he performed by the
help of a complicated apparatus of lamps, candles, and
reflectors, so arranged as to eke out the miserable day-
light to a power apparently sufficient for the neutral
touches on which he was at that moment engaged.

The first thought of an unsophisticated stranger on
entering that room could only be the amazed inquiry
why a professor of the art of colour, which beyond all
other arts requires pure daylight for its exercise, should
fix himself on the single square league in habitable
Europe to vrhich light is denied at noonday for weeks
in succession.

‘ O I it’s you, George, is it ? ' said the Academician,
turning from the lamps, which shone over his bald
crown at such a slant as to reveal every cranial irre-
gularity. *How are you this morning? Still a dead
silence about your grand castle competition ? ’

Somerset told the news. His father duly congratu-
lated him, and a^ed genially, ‘It is 1^11 to be you,
George. One large commission to attend to, and
nothing to distract you from it. I am bothered by
242

DE STANCY

having a dozen irons in the fire at once. And people
are so unreasonable. — Only this morning, among other
things, when you got your order to go on with your
single study, I received a letter from a woman, an old
friend whom 1 can scarcely refuse, begging me as a
great favour to design her a set of theatrical costumes,
in which she and her friends can perform for some
charity. It would occupy me a good week to go iftto
the subject and do the thing properly. Such are the
sort of letters I get. I wish, George, you could knock
out something for her before you leave town. It is
positively impossible for me to do it with all this work
in hand, and these eternal fogs to contend against.’

‘ I fear costumes are rather out of my line,’ said the
son. ‘ However, I’ll do wlmt I can. What period and
country are they to represent ? ’

His father didn’t know. He had never looked at
the play of late years. It was ‘ Love’s Labour’s Lost.’
‘ You had better read it for yourself,’ he said, ‘ and do
the best you can.’

During the morning Somerset junior found time to
refresh his memory of the play, and afterwards went
and hunted up materials for designs to suit the same,
which occupied his spare hours for the next three days.
As these occupations made no great demands upon his
reasoning faculties he mostly found his mind wandering
off to imaginary scenes at Stancy Castle: particularly
did he dwell at this time upon Paula’s lively interest
in the history, relics, tombs, architecture, — nay, the very
Christian names of the De Stancy line, and her ‘ artistic ’
preference for Charlotte’s ancestors instead of her own.
Yet what more natural than that a clever meditative
girl, encased in the feudal lumber of that family, should
imbibe at least an antiquarian intei;est in it ? Human
natuie at bottom is romantic rath#' than ascetic, and
the local habitation which accident had provided for
Paula was perhaps acting as a solvent of the hard,
243

A LAODICBAN

morWdly introspective views thrust upon her in early
life.

Somerset wondered if his own possession of a sub-
stantial genealogy like Captain Pe Stancy’s would have
had any appreciable effect upon her regard for him.
His suggestion to Paula of her bdonging to a worthy
strain of engineers had been based on his content with
his own intdlectual line of descent through Pheidias,
Ictinus and Callicrates, Chersiphron, Vitruvius, Wilars
of Cambray, William of Wykeham, and the rest of that
long and illustrious roll; but Miss Power’s marked
preference for an animal pedigree led him to muse on
what he could show for himself in that kind. "

These thoughts so far occupied him that when he
took the sketches to his father, on the morning of the
fifthi he was led to ask : * Has any one ever sifted out
our femily pedigree ? ’

♦Family pedigree?’

♦ Yes. Have we any pedigree worthy to be compared
with that of professedly old femilies ? I never remember
hearing of any ancestor further back than my great-
grandfather.’

Somerset the elder reflected and said that he believed
there was a genealogical tree about the house some-
where, readiing back to a very respectable distance.
‘ Not that I ever took much interest in it,’ ^e continued,
without looking up from his canvas; ♦but your great
unde John was a man with a taste for those subjects,
and he drew up such a sheet : he made several copies
on parchment, and gave one to each of his bothers
and sisters. The one he gave to my father is still in
my possession, I think.’

Somerset said that he diould like to see it; but
half-an-hour’s search about the bouse^fled to discover
the document ; and the Acadanician’Vik& remembered
that it was in an iron box at his banker’s. He had
used it as a WTap|>er for some title-deeds and other
*44

DB 8TANCY

valuable writings which wm deposited there for safety.

* Why do you want it ? ’ he inqtdred.

Ibe young man confessed his whim to know if his
own antiquity would bear comparison with that of
another pmon, whose name te did not mention;
whereupon his father gave him a key that would fit
the said chest, if he meant to pursue Hie subject
further. Somerset, however, did nothing in the matter
that day, but the next morning, having to call at the
bank on other business, he remembered his new fimcy.

It was about eleven o’clock. The fog, though not
so brown^ as it had been on previous days, was still
dense enough to necessitate lights in the shops and
offices. When Somerset had finished his business in
the outer office of the bank he went to the manager’s
room. The hour being somewhat early the only
persons present in that sanctuary of balances, besides
the manager who wdlcomed him, were two gentlemen,
apparently lawyers, who sat talking earnestly over a box
of papers. The manager, on learning what Somerset
wanted, unlocked a door from which a flight of stone
steps led to the vaults, and sent down a clerk and a
porter for the safe.

Before, however, they had descended far a gentle
tap came to the door, and in response to an invitation
to enter a lady appeared, wrapped up in furs to her
very nose.

The manager seemed to recognize her, for be went
across the room in a moment, and set her a chair at the
middle table, replying to some observation of hers with
the words, ‘ O yes, cortainly,’ in a deferential tone.

* I should like it brought up at once,’ said the lady, y

Somerset, w^ had seated himself at a table in a
somewhat obUiM comer, screened fay the lawyers,
started at the words. The voice was Miss Power’s,
and BO plainly enough was the figure as soon as he
examined it. Her back was towmds him, and eifher

245

A LAODICEAN

because the room was only lighted in two places, or
because she was absorbed in her own concerns, she
seem^ to be unconscious of any one’s presence on
the scene except the banker and herself. The former
called back the derk, and two other porters having
been summoned they disappeared to get whatever she
required.

Somerset, somewhat excited, sat wondering what
could have brought Paula to London at this juncture,
and was in some doubt if the occasion were a suitable
one for revealing himself, her errand to her banker
being possibly of a very private nature. ‘ Nothing
helped him to a dedsion. Paula never once turned
her head, and the progress of time was marked only

the murmurs of the two lawyers, and the cease-
less dash of gold and rattle of scales from the outer
room, where the busy heads of cashiers could be seen
through the partition moving about under the globes of
the gas-lamps.

Footsteps were heard upon the cellar-steps, and the
three men previously sent below staggered from the
doorway, bearing a huge safe which nearly broke them
down. Somerset knew that his father’s tox, or boxes,
could boast of no such dimensions, and he was not
surprised to see the chest deposited in front of Miss
Power. When the immense accumulation of dust had
been cleared off the lid, and the chest conveniently
placed for her, Somerset was attended to, his modest
box bemg brought up one man unassisted, and
without much expen£ture of breath.

His interest in Paula was of so emotional a cast
that his attention to his own errand was of the most
perfunctory kind. She was^close to a gas-standard,
and the. lasers, whose seats had Stervened, having
finished their business and gone away, all her actions
were visible tt> him. While he was opening his frtther’s
box the manager assisted Paula to unseal and unlodc
946

D£ STANCY

hm^ and he now saw her lift from it a morocco case,
which she placed on the table before her, and unfastened.
Out of it she took a dazsling object that fell like a
cascade over her fingers. It was a necklace of diamonds
and pearls^ apparently of large size and many strands,
though he was not near enough to see distinctly. When
satisfied by her examination &at she had got the right
article she shut it into its case.

The manager closed the diest for her; and when it
was again secured Paula arose, tossed the necklace into
her hand-bag, bowed to the manager, and was about to
bid him good morning, tliereupon he said with some
hesitation: * Pardon one question, Miss Power." > Do
you intend to take those jewels far ? ’

* Yes,’ she said simply, ‘ to Stancy Castle.’

' You are going straight there ? ’

‘ I have one or two places to call at first.’

* I would suggest that you carry them in some other
way — by fastening them into the pocket of your dress,
for instance.’

* But I am going to hold the bag in my hand and
never once let it go.’

The banker slightly shook his head. ' Suppose your
carriage gets overturned : you would let it go then.*

‘ Perhaps so.’

* Or if you saw a child under the wheels just as you
were stepping in ; or if you accidentally stumbled in
getting out; or if there was a collision on the railwaifft^
you might let it go.’

* Yes ; I see 1 was too careless. I thank you.’

Paula removed the necklace from the bag, turned

her back to the manager, and spent several minutes in
placing her treasure in her bosom, pinning it and other-
wise making it absolutely secure.

^That’s it,’ said the grey-haired man of haution, with
evident sadsfaction. is not much danger ndw

you are not traveling alone? ’

941

A LAODICEAN

Paula Kplied that she was not alone, and veotthttka
door. There was one moment durii^ iribich Somerset
might have conveniently made his presence knownj but
die jmttaposition of the bank-manager, and tns own dis-
arranged box of securities, eaabairassed him: tbe moment
shpp^ by, and she was gpne.

In the meantime be had mechanicaify unearthed the
pedigree, and,.k>cking up his dither's chest, Somerset
also took his dquurture at the beds of Paula. He
walked along the misty street, so deqily musing as to
be quite unomsdoaS of the direction of his walk. What,
he inquired of himself, could :die want that necklace
for so suddenly ? He recollected a remark of Dare’s to
the effect that her appearance on a particular occasion
at Staniy Castle had been magnificent by reason of the
jewels she worej which proved that she had retained a
suffidoit quantity of those valuables at the castle for
ordinary requirements. What exceptional occasion,
tima, was impending on which she wished to glorify
heram beyond all previous experience? He could not
guess. He was interrupted in these conjectures a
carriage nearly passing over his toes at a crossing in
Bond Street: looking up he saw between the two
windows of the vdiide the profile of a thickly mantled
bosom, on which a camelia rose and idl< M the re-
mainder part of the lady’s person was hidden , but he
temembered that flower of convenient season as one
idllcb had figured in the bank pariour half-an-hour
earlier to-day.

Somerset hastened after the carnage, and in a minute
saw it stop opposite a jeweller s «hop. Out came Paula,
and then another woman, in rritom he recognised Mrs.
Birch, one of the lady’s nudds at Stanqr Oistle. The
young man was at Paula’s side before she had crossed
the pavement.

la «VAII0I&

VI

A QUICK anested oqwession in her two saj^huino
qres, accompaniedi by a httle, a very little, blush which
loitered longy was all the outward disturbance that the
sight of her lover caused. The hatnt of seif-repression
at any new emotional impact was instinctive with her
always. Somerset could not say more than a word ; be
looked his intense solidtude, and Paula spoke.

She declared that this fras an unexpected pleasure.
Had he arranged to come on the tenth as she wished?
How strange that th^ should meet thus I — and yet not
strange*— the world was so small

Somerset said that he was coming on the very day
she m^tioned-%hgt the appointment gave him n^ite
gratification, wh^ was quite within the truth*

*Come into ttda shop with me,' said Paulai
good-humoured anthoiitativeness*

Tlu^ entered the shop and talked on while she tfasule
a small purchase. But not a word did Paula say of hlit
sudden errand^ to town

am having an exciting morning,’ she said. <1
am gdng from here to catch the one-o’clock train to
Markton*’

* It is important that you get there this afternoon, I
suppose?’

‘ Yes. You know why ? ’

S49

!iIM Hlh'iSff «

ItV' ')IU6t!fclu

NOk' sidkl A tdih$

Ad Meed. Bat It kjk gieet

jdRBer And a bali «|^ aaa dayj

* Yes ■ CharlfittB that Bitt 1 dim’t mind it,*

‘YodAK giii|faii
wid soflAt.

HeriiF

are going. Are yoa glad?' he

« aaoaie nt^ B hy
ild wmSipM
ahy deterioration
Ills It was only
had overlaid her

UNMUKtacHe than her words. ^ J am n^
so my glad I0|V am going to the Hntit Ball,' sBA
replied (doddtltMy.

' for that,;^ said he.

S|« lifted her esyes to bin
nv 00 et had suddenly become f
oePt^t in the tea-house that
jllf affection in her was no lon{

^as if a thin layer of recent
memories of him, until his presence |wept them away.

Somerset looked up, and||feding the shopman to be
still some way off, he adde^ When wltLyou assure me
of something in return for what 1 iMred you that
e^htiing in Sie rain?’

^ * Not before you have built the castlfe My aunt does
not know about it yet, nor anybody.’

* I ought to tell her ’

* No, not yet. I don’t wish it ’

<Then everything stands as usual?’

K lightly nodded

It is, 1 may love you but you still will not aSf
you 1cm me*’

She noddA diiecfing his attention to tqg

advancing shopdmfi,^»N^ * Please not a wend more.’

Soon after this, they left the jeweller’s^ and partOflC
Paula driving straight off to the station and Somerlet
going on his my uncertainly happy, Hisrie-imptessi^
after a few minutes was that*k spednl jemtiey to tWCMS
as©

PE STANCY

to fetch that magnificent necklace which she had not
once mentioned to him, but whidi was plainly to be
the medium of some proud purpose with her this
evening, was hardly in harmony with her assertions of
indifierenoe to the attractions of the Hunt Ball.

He got into a cab and drove to his club, where
he lunched, and mopingly spent a great part of the
afternoon in making calcu^tions for the foundations of
the castle works. Later in the afternoon he returned to
his chambers, wishing that he could ^|^nihilate the three
days remaining before the tenth, parti^larly this coming
evening. On his table was a letter in a strange wnting,
and indifferently turning it over he found from the
superscription that it had been addressed to him days
before at the Lord-Quantock-Arms Hotel, Markton,
where it had lain ever since, the landlord probably
expecting him to return. Opening the missive, he
found to his surprise that it was, after all, an invitation
to the Hunt Ball

‘ Too late ’ ^ said Sometset. ‘ To think I should be
seived this trick a second time ! *

' After a moment’s pause, however, he looked to see
the time of day It was five minutes past five — just
about the hour when Paula would be driving from
JVtarkton Station to Stancy Castle to rest and prepare
herself for her evening triumph. There was a train at
six o’clock, timed to reach Markton between eleven and
twelve, which by great exertion he might save even now,
if it were worth while to undertake such a scramble for
the pleasure of dropping in to the ball at a late hour.
A moment’s vision of Paula moving to swift tunes on
the arm of a person or persons unknown was enough to
impart the impetus required. He jumped up, flung his
dress clothes into a portmanteau, sent down to call a
cab, and in a few minutes was rattling off to the railway
which had borne Paula away from London just five
hours earlier.

251

A LAODICEAN

Once in the train, he began to consider where and
how he could most conveniently dress for the dance.
The train would certainly be half-an-hour late; half-an-
hour would be spent in getting to the town-hall, and
that was the utmost delay tolerable if he would secure
the hand of Paula for one spin, or be more than a mere
dummy behind the earlier arrivals. He looked for an
empty compartment at the next stoppage, and finding
the one next his own unoccupied, he entered it and
changed his raiment for that in his portmanteau during
the ensuing run of twenty miles.

Thus prepared he awaited the Markton platform,
which was reached as the clock struck twelve. Somerset
called a fly and drove at once to the town-hall.

The borough natives had ascended to their upper
floors, and were putting out their candles one by one
as he passed along the streets; but the lively strains
that proceeded from the central edifice revealed dis-
tinctly enough what was going on among the temporary
visitors from the neighbouring manors. The doors
were opened for him, and entering the vestibule lined
with flags, flowers, evergreens, and escutcheons, he stood
looking into the furnace of gaiety beyond.

It was some time before he could gather his impres-
sions of the scene, so perplexing were the lights, the
motions, the toilets, the full-dress uniforms of officers
and the harmonies of sound. Yet light, sound, and
movement were not so much the essence of that giddy
scene as an intense aim at obliviousness in the beings
composing it. For two or three hours at least those
whirling young people meant not to know that they
were mortal. The room was beating like a heart, and
the pulse was regulated by the trembling strings of the
most popular quadrille band in Wessex. But at last his
eyes grew settled enough to look criti^lly.around.

The room wab crowded — too crowded. Every
variety of fair one, beauties primary, secondary, and
252

DE STANCY

tertiary, appeared among the personages composing the
throng. There were suns and moons ; also pale planets
of little account. Broadly speaking, these daughters of
the county fell into two closes : one the pink-fk^ unso-
phisticated girls from neighbouring rectories and small
country-houses, who knew not town except for an occa-
sional fortnight, and who spent their time from Easter
to JLammas Day much as they spent it during the
refining nine months of the year : the other class were
th^chil(ken of the wealthy landowners who migrated
each season to the town-house; these were pale and
collected, showed less enjoyment in their countenances,
and wore in general an approximation to the langdid
manners of the capital.

A quadrille was in progress, and Somerset scanned
each set. His mind had run so long upon the neck-
lace, that his glance involuntarily sought out that gleam-
ing object rather than the personality of its wearer. At
the top of the room there he beheld it ; but it was on
the n^ of Charlotte De Stancy.

The whole ludd explanation broke across his under-
standing in a second. His dear Paula had fetched the
necklace that Charlotte should not appear to disadvaih
tage among the county people by reason of her poverty.
It was generously done — a disinterested act of sisterly
kindness; theirs was the friendship of Hermia and
Helena. Before he had got further than to realize this,
there wheeled round amongst the dancers a lady whose
iourtiure he recognized well. She was Paula ; and to
the young man’s vision a superlative something dis-
tinguished her from all the rest. This was not dress
or ornament, for she had hardly a gem upon her, her
attire being a model of effective simplicity. Her partner
was Captain De Stancy.

The discovery of this latter fact slightly obscured his
appreciation of what he had discovered just before. It
was with rather a lowering brow that he asked himself
253

A LAODICEAN

whether Paula’s predilection artiste^ as she called it, for •
the De Stancy line might not lead to a prtdikction of a
different sort for its last representative which would be
not at all satisfactory.

The architect remained in the background till the
dance drew to a conclusion, and then he went forward.
The circumstance of having met him by accident once
already that day seemed to quench any surprise in Miss
Power’s bosom at seeing him now. There was nothing
in her parting from Captain De Stancy, when he led
her to a seat, calculated to make Somerset uneasy
after his long absence. Though, for that matter, this
proved nothing; for, like all wise maidens, Paula
never ventured on the game of the eyes with a lover
in public; well knowing that every moment of such
indulgence overnight might mean an hour’s sneer at
her expense by the indulged gentleman next day, when
weighing womankind by the aid of a cold morning light
and a t^d headache.

While Somerset was explaining to Paula and her
aunt the reason of his sudden appearance, their atten-
tion was dniwn to a seat a short way off by a fluttering
of ladies round the spot. In a moment it was whispered
that somebody had fallen ill, and in another that the
sufferer was Miss De Stancy. Paula, M rs. Goodman, and
Somerset at once joined the group of friends who were
assisting her. Neither of them imagined for an instant
that the unexpected advent of Somerset on the scene
had anything to do with the poor girl’s indisposition.

She was assisted out of the room, and her brother,
who now came up, prepared to take her home, Somer-
set exchanging a few civil words with him, which the
Imrry of the moment prevented them from continuing ;
though on taking his leave with Charlotte, who was now
better, De Stancy informed Somerset in answer to a
cursory inquiry, tl\at he hoped to be back again at the
ball in half-an-hour.

254

DE STANCY

When they were gone Somerset, feeling that now
another dog might have his day, sounded Paula on
the delightful question of a dance.

Paula repli^ in the negative.

‘How is that?* asked Somerset with reproachful
disappointment.

‘I cannot dance again,’ she said in a somewhat
depressed tone; ‘I must be released from every en-
gagement to do so, on account of Charlotte’s illness.
I should have gone home with her if I had not been
particularly requested to stay a little longer, since it is as
yet so early, and Charlotte’s illness is not very serious.’

If Charlotte’s illness was not very serious, Somerset
thought, Paula might have stretched a point; but not
wishing to hinder her in showing respect to a friend so
well liked by himself, he did not ask it. De Stancy
had promised to be back again in half-an-hour, and
Paula had heard the promise. But at the end of
twenty minutes, still seeming indifferent to what was
going on around her, she said she would stay no longer,
and reminding Somerset that they were soon to meet
and talk over the rebuilding, drove off with her aunt
to Stancy Castle.

Somerset stood looking after the retreating carriage
till it was enveloped in shades that the lamps could
not disperse. The ball-room was now virtually empty
for him, and feeling no great anxiety to return thither
he stood on the steps for some minutes longer, looking
into the calm mild night, and at the dark houses behind
whose blinds by the burghers with their eyes seal^ up
in sleep. He could not but think that it was rather
too bad of Paub to spoil his evening for a sentimental
devotion to Charlotte which could do the btter no
appredable good; and he would have felt seriously
hurt at her move if it had not been equally severe
upon Captain De Stancy, who was* doubtless hastening
back, full of a belief that she would still be found there.
255

A LAODICEAN

*

The star of gas-jets over the entrance threw its bght
upon the walls on the opposite side of the street, whete
there were notice-boards of forthcoming events. In
glancing over these for the fifth time, his eye was
attract^ by the first words of a placard in blue letters,
of a size larger than the rest, and moving onward a few
steps he read : —

STANCY CASTLE.

By the kind permission of Miss PowES,

A PLAY

Will shortly be performed at the above CASTLE.

IN AID OF THE FUNDS OF THE

COUNTY HOSPITAL,

By the Officers of the

ROYAL HORSE ARTILLERY,
MARKTON BARRACKS,

ASSISTED BY SBVESATv

LADIES OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.

The cast and other particulars will be duly announced in small
bills. Places will be reserved on application to Mr. Clangham,
High Street, Markton, where a plan of the room may be seen.

N.B , — The Castle is about twenty minutes* drive from Markton
Station, to which there are numerous convenient trains from all
parts of the county.

In a profound zt&ly Somerset tu|ped and re-entered
the ball-room, ‘where he remained gloomily standing

t)E "STANCY

here and there for abbut five minutes, at the end of
which he observed Captain De Stancy, who had returned
punctually to his word, crossing the in his direction.

The gallant officer darted glances of lively search
over every group of dancers and sitters ; and then with
rather a blank look in his face, he came on to Somerset.
Replying to the latter*s inquiry for his sister that she
had n^ly recovered, he said, ^ I don’t see my father’s
ndghbours anywhere.’

‘They have gone home,’ replied Somerset, a trifle
drily. * They asked me to make their apologies to you
for leading you to expect they would remain. Miss^
Power was too anxious about Miss De Stancy to care to
stay longer.’

The eyes of De Stancy and the speaker met for
an instant. Tliat curious guarded understanding, or
mimical confederacy, which arises at moments between
two men in love with the same woman, was present
here ; and in their mutual glances each said as plainly
as by words that her departure had ruined his evening’s
hope.

They were now about as much in one mood as it was
possible for two such differing natures to be. Neither
cared further for elaborating giddy curves on that town-
hall floor. They stood talking languidly about this and
that local topic, till De Stancy turned aside for a short
time to speak to a dapper little lady who had beckoned
to him. In a few minutes he came back to Somerset.

‘ Mrs. Camperton, the wife of Major Camperton of
my battery, would very much like me to introduce you
to her. She is an old friend of your father’s, and has
wanted to know you for a long time.’

De Stancy and Somerset crossed over to the lady,
and in a few minutes, thanks to her flow of spirits, she
and Somerset were cutting with remarkable freedom.

‘ It is a happy itoincidence,’ continued Mrs. Cam-
perton, ‘ that I should have met you here, immediately
*57

A LAODICEAN

after receiving a letter from your father: indeed it
reached me only this morning. He has been so kind 1
We are getting up some theatricals, as you know, 1
suppose, to help the funds of the County Hospital,
which is in debt.’

‘ 1 have just seen the announcement — nothing more.'

* Yes, such an estimable purpose ; and as we wished
to do it thoroughly well, I asked Mr. Somerset to design
us the costumes, and he has now sent me the sketches.
It is quite a secret at present, but we are going to play
Shakespeare’s romantic drama, * Love’s Labour’s Lost,’
and we hope to get Miss Power to take the leading part.
You see, being such a handsome girl, and so wealthy,
and rather an undiscovered novelty in the county as yet,
she would draw a crowded room, and greatly benefit the
funds.’

♦Miss Power going to play herself? — I am rather
surprised,’ said Somerset. * Whose idea is all this ? '

*0, Captain De Stancy’s — he’s the originator en-
tirely. You see he is so interested in the neighbourhood,
his family having been connected with it for so many
centuries, that naturally a charitable object of this local
nature appeals to his feelings.’

‘ Naturally ! ’ her listener laconically repeated. * And
have you settled who is to play the junior gentleman’s
part, leading lover, hero, or whatever he is called ? ’

‘ Not absolutely ; though I tliink Captain De Stancy
will not refuse it ; and he is a very good figure. At
present it lies between him and Mr. Mild, one of our
young lieutenants. My husband, of course, takes the
heavy line ; and I am to be the second lady, though I
am rather too old for the part really. If we can only
secure Miss Power for heroine the cast will be excellent,*

‘ Excellent.! ’ said Somerset, with a spectml smile.

DE STANCY

VII

When he awoke the next morning at the Lord-f
Quantock-Arms Hotel Somerset felt quite morbid on
recalling the intelligence he had received from Mrs. Cam-
perton. But as the day for serious practical consultation
about the castle works, to which Paula had playfully
alluded, was now close at hand, he determined to banish
sentimental reflections on the frailties that were besieging
her nature, by active prepanation for his professional
undertaking. To be her higfi-priest in art, to elaborate
a structure whose cunning workmanship v^ould be meet-
ing her eye every day till the end of her natural life, and
saying to her, ‘ He invented it,’ with all the eloquence
of an inanimate thing long regarded — this was no mean
. satisfaction, come what else would.

He returned to town the next day to set matters
there in such trim that no inconvenience should result
from his prolonged absence at the castle ; for having no
other commission he determined (with an eye rather to
heajt-interests than to increasing his professional practice)
'to make, as before, the castle itself his office, studio,
and chief abiding-place till the works were fairly in
progress.

On the tenth he reappeared at Markton. Passing*
through the town, on the road to Stancy Castle, his
eyes were again arrested by the notice-board which

259

A LAODICEAN

had conveyed such startling information to him on
the night of the ball. The small hills now appeared
thereon; but when he anxiously looked them over to
learn how the parts were to be allotted, he found that
intelligence still withheld. Yet they told enough ; the
list of lady^players was given, and Miss Power’s name
was one.

That a young lady who, six months ago, would
scarcely join for conscientious reasons in a simple
dance on her own lawn, should now be willing to ex-
hibit herself on a public stage, simulating love-passages
with a stranger, argued a rate of development which
under any circumstances would have surprised him,
but which, with the particular addition, as leading
colleague, of Captain De Stancy, inflamed him almost
to anger. What clandestine arrangements had been
going on in his absence to produce such a full-blown
intention it were futile to guess. Paula’s course was
a race rather than a march, and each successive heat
was startling in its eclipse of that which went before.

Somerset was, however, introspective enough to know
that his morals would have taken no such virtuous alarm
had he been the chief male player instead of Captain
De Stancy.

He passed under the castle-arch and entered. There
seemed a little turn in the tide of affairs ivhen it was
announced to him that Miss Power expected him, and
was alone.

The well-known ante-chambers through which he
walked, filled with twilight, draughts, and thin echoes
that seemed to reverberate from two hundred years
ago, did not delay his eye as they had done when he *
had been ignorant that 1^ destiny lay b^ond ; and he
followed on through all this andentness to where the
^modern Paula sat (o receive him.

He forgot evest^Ydng in the pleasure of bring alone
in a room with her. She met his eyo with that in her
260

DE STANCY

own which cheered him. It was a light expressing that
something was understood between them. She said
quietly in two or three words that she had expected him
in the forenoon.

Somerset explained that he had come only that
morning from Ix>ndon.

After a little more talk, in which she said that her
aunt would join them in a few minutes, and that Miss
De Stancy was still indisposed at her father’s house,
she rang for tea and sat down beside a little table.
* Shall we proceed to business at once ? ’ she asked him,

‘ I suppose so.’

‘ First then, when will the working drawings be ready,
which I think you said must be made out before the
work could begin?*

While Somerset informed her on this and other
matters, Mrs. Goodman entered and joined in the dis-
cussion, after which they found it would be necessary
to adjourn to the room where the plans were hanging.
On their walk thither Paula asked if he stayed late at
the ball.

‘ I left soon after you,*

‘ That was very early, seeing how late you arrived.*

* Yes. ... 1 did not dance.*

* What did you do then ? *

*1 moped, and walked to the door; and saw an
announcement.*

‘ I know — the play that is to be performed.’

‘ In which you are to be the Princess.*

‘That*s not settled, — I have not agreed yet. I
shall not play the Princess of France unless Mr. Mild
plays the King of Navarre.*

This sounded rather welL The Princess was the
lady beloved by the King; and Mr. Mild, the young
lieutenant of artillery, was a diffident, inexperienced,
rather plain-looking fellow, whose sole interest in
theatricals lay in the consideration of his costume and
36x

A LAODICEAN

the sound of his own voice in the ears of the audience
With such an unobjectionable person to enact the part
of lover, the prominent character of leading young lady
or heroine, which Paula was to personate, was really
the most satisfactory in the whole list for her. For
although she was to be wooed hard, there was just as
much love-making among the remaining personages;
while, as Somerset had understood the play, there could
occur no flingings of her person upon her lover’s neck,
or agonized downfalls upon the stage, in her whole
performance, as there were in the parts chosen by
Mrs. Camperton, the major’s wife, and some of the
other ladies.

* Why do you play at all * * he murmured.

* Wh -t a question 1 How could I refuse for such an
excellent purpose ? They say that my taking a part will
be worth a hundred pounds to the charity. My father
always supported the hospital, which is quite unde-
nominational ; and he said I was to do the same.’

* Do you think the peculiar means you have adopted
for supporting it entered into his view?’ inquired
Somerset, regarding her with critical dryness. ‘ For my
part I don’t.’

‘ It is an interesting way,’ she returned persuasively,
though apparently in a state of mental equipoise on the
point raised by his question. < And 1 shdl not play the
Princess, as 1 said, to any other than that quiet young
man. Now I assure you of this, so don’t be angry and
absurd 1 Besides, the King doesn’t marry me at the
end of the play, as in Shakespeare’s other comedies.
And if Miss De Stancy continues seriously unwell I shall
not play at all.’

The young man pressed her hand, but she gently
slipped it away.

* Are we not engaged, Paula ! ’ he asked. She
evasively shook her heiid.

‘ Come — yes we are ! Shall we tell your aunt ? * he
262

DE STANCY

continued. Unluckily at that moment Mrs. Goodman,
who had followed them to the studio at a slower pace,
appeared round the doorway.

‘No,— to the last,* replied Paula hastily. Then
her aunt entered, and the conversation was no longer
personal.

Somerset took his departure in a serener mood
though not completely assured.

A LAODICEAN

VIII

His serenity continued dunng two or three following
days, when, continuing at the castle, he got pleasant
glimpses of Paula now and then. Her strong desire
that his love for her should be kept secret, perplexed
him ; but his affection was generous, and he acquiesced
in that desire.

Meanwhile news of the forthcoming dramatic per-
formance radiated in every direction. And in the next
number of the county paper it was announced, to
Somerset’s comparative satisfaction, that the cast was
definitely settled, Mr. Mild having agreed to be the
King and Miss Power the French Princess. Captain
De Stancy, with becoming modesty for one who was the
leading spirit, figured quite low down, in the secondary
character of Sir Nathaniel.

Somerset remembered that, by a happy chance, the
costume he had designed for Sir Nathaniel was not at
all picturesque ; moreover Sir Nathaniel scarcely came
near the Princess through the whole play.

Every day after this there was coming and going
to and from the castle of railway vans laden with
canvas columns, pasteboard trees, limp house-fronts,
woollen lawns, and lath balustrades. There were also
frequent arrivals of young ladies from neighbouring
country houses, and warriors from the X and Y
• 264

DE STANCY

batteries of artillery, distinguishable by their regulation
shaving.

But it was upon Captain De Stancy and Mrs.
Camperton that the weight of preparation fell. Somerset,
through being much occupied in the drawing-office, was
seldom present during the consultations and rehearsals :
until one day, tea being served in the drawing-room at
«the usual hour, he dropped in with the rest to recave a
cup from Paula’s table. The chatter was tremendous,
and Somerset was at once consulted about some
necessary caipentry which was to be specially made at
Markton. After that he was looked on as one of the
band, which resulted in a large addition to the number
of his acquaintance in this part of England.

But his own feeling was that of being an outsider
still. This vagary had been originated, the play chosen,
the parts allotted, all in his absence, and calling him
in at the last moment might, if flirtation were possible
in Paula, be but a sop to pacify him. What would he
have given to impersonate her lover in the piece 1 But
neither Paula nor any one else had asked him.

The eventful evening came. Somerset had been
engaged during the day with the different people by
whom the works were to be carried out; and in the
evening went to his rooms at the Lord-Quantock-Arms,
Markton, where he dined. He did not return to the
castle till the hour fixed for the performance, and
having been received by Mrs. Goodman, entered the
large apartment, now transfigured into a theatre, like
any other spectator.

Rumours of the projected representation had spread
far and wide. Six times the number of tickets issued
might have been readily sold. Friends and acquaint-
ances of the actors came from curiosity to see how they
would acquit themselves ; while other classes of people
came because they were eager to see well-known nota-
bilities in unwonted situations. When ladies, hitherto*
265

A LAODICEAN

only beheld in frigid, impenetrable positions behind
their coachmen in Markton High Street, were about to
reveal their hidden traits, home attitudes, intimate
smiles, nods, and perhaps kisses, to the public eye, it
was a throwing open of fascinating social secrets not to
be missed for money.

The performance opened with no further delay than
was occasioned by the customary refusal of the curtain
at these times to rise more than two feet six inches ;
but this hitch was remedied, and the play began. It
was with no enviable emotion that Somerset, who was
watching intently, saw, not Mr. Mild, but Captain De
Stancy, enter as the King of Navarre.

Somerset as a friend of the family had bad a seat
reserved for him next to that of Mrs. Goodman, and
turning to her he said with some excitement, * I under-
stood that Mr. Mild had agreed to take that part ? ’

*Yes,’ she said in a whisper, *so he had; but he
broke down. Luckily Captain De Stancy was familiar
with the part, through having coached the others so
persistently, and he undertook it off-hand. Being about
the same figure as Lieutenant Mild the same dress fits
him, with a little alteration by the tailor.*

It did fit him indeed ; and of the male costumes it
was that on which Somerset had bestowed most pains
when designing them. It shrewdly burst upon his mind
that there might have been collusion between Mild and
De Stancy, the former agreeing to take the captain’s
place and act as blind till the last moment. A greater
question was, could Paula have been aware of this, and
would she perform as the Princess of France now De
Stancy was to be her lover ?

‘Does Miss Power know of this change?* he in-
quired.

* She did not till quite a short time ago.'

He controlled his impatience till the beginning of
the second act. The Princess entered ; it was Paula.

266

DE STANCY

But whether the slight embarrassment with which ^he
pronounced her opening words,

* Gooil Lord Boyet, my beauty, though lait mean,

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise,*

was due to the newness of her situation, or to her know-
ledge that De Stancy had usurped Mild’s part of her
lover, he could not guess. De Stancy appeared, and
Somerset felt grim as he listened to the gallant captain’s
salutation of the Princess, and her response.

De S, Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

Paula, Fair, 1 give you back again : and welcome, I have
not yet.

Somerset listened to this and to all that which fol-
lowed of the same sort, with the reflection that, after all,
the Princess never throughout the piece compromised
her dignity by showing her love for the King ; and that
the latter never addressed her in words in which passion
got the better of courtesy. Moreover, as Paula had
herself observed, they did not marry at the end of the
piece, as in Shakespeare’s other comedies. Somewhat
calm in this assurance, he waited on while the other
couples respectively indulged in their love-making and
banter, including Mrs. Camperton as the sprightly Rosa-
line. But he was ^doomed to be surprised out of his
humour when the end of the act came on. In abridging
the play for the convenience of representation, the favours
or gifts from the gentlemen to the ladies were personally
presented : and now Somerset saw De Stancy advance
with the necklace fetched by Paula from London, and
clasp it on her neck.

This seemed to throw a less pleasant light on her
hasty journey. To fetch a valuable ornament to lend
it to a poorer friend was estimable ; but to fetch it that
the friend’s brother should have something magnilicent
267

A LAODICEAN

to use as a lover’s offering to herself in public, that
wore a different complexion. And if the article were
recognized by the spectators as the same that Charlotte
had worn at the ball, the presentation by De Stancy of
what must seem to be an heirloom of his house would
be read as symbolizing a union of the families.

De Stancy’s mode of presenting the necklace, though
unauthorized by Shakespeare, had the full approval of
the company, and set them in good humour to receive
Major Camperton as Armado the braggart. Nothing
calculated to stimulate jealousy occurred again till the
fifth act ; and then there arose full cause for it.

The scene was the outside of the Princess’s pavilion.
De Stancy, as the King of Navarre, stood with his
group of attendants awaiting the Princess, who presently
entered from her door. The two began to converse as
the play appointed, De Stancy turning to her with
this reply —

Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ;

The virtue of your eye must break my oath.’

So far all was well ; and Paula opened her lips for
the set rejoinder. But before she had spoken Dc Stancy
continued —

‘ If I profane with my unworthy hand

( her hand)

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this —

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Somerset stared. Surely in this comedy the King
never addressed the Princess in such warm words ; and
yet they were Shakespeare’s, for they were quite familiar
to him. A dim suspicion crossed his mind. Mrs.
Goodman had brdught a copy of Shakespeare with her,
wliich she kept in her lap and never looked at : borrowing
268

DE STANCY

it, Somerset turned to ‘ Romeo and Juliet/ and there
he saw the words which De Stancy had introduced as
gag, to intensify the mild love-making of the other play.
Meanwhile De Stancy continued —

* O then, d<:ar Saint, let lips do vihat bands do ;

They pray, grant thou, lest £uth turn to despair.

Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd ! '

Could it be that De Stancy was going to do what
came next in the stage direction — kiss her? Before
there was time for conjecture on that point the sound of '
a very sweet and long-drawn osculation spread through
the room, followed by loud applause from the people
in the cheap seats. De Stancy withdrew from bending
over Paula, and she was very red in the face. Nothing
seemed clearer than that he had actually done the deed.
The applause continuing, Somerset turned his head.
Five hundred faces had regarded the act, without a
consciousness that it was an interpolation; and four
hundred and fifty mouths in those faces were smiling.
About one half of them were tender smiles ; these came
from the women. The other half were at best humorous,
and mainly satirical; these came from the men. It
was a profanation without parallel, and his face blazed
like a coal.

The play was now nearly at an end, and Somerset
sat on, feeling what he could not express. More than
ever was he assured that there had been collusion
between the two artillery officers to bring about this
end. That he should have been the unhappy man to
design those picturesque dresses in which his rival so
audaciously played the lover to his, Somerset's, mistress,
was an added point to the satire. He could hardly go
so far as to assume that Paula was a consenting party
to this startling interlude ; but her otherwise unaccount-
269

A LAODICEAN

able wish that his own love should be clandestinely
shown lent immense force to a doubt of her sincerity.
The ghastly thought that she had merely been keeping
him on, like a pet spaniel, to amuse her leisure moments
till she should have found appropriate opportunity for
an open engagement with some one else, trusting to his
sense of chivalry to keep secret their little episode, filled
him with a grim heat

DE STANCY

IX

At the back of the room the applause had been loud^
at the moment ot the kiss, real or counterfeit. The
cause was partly owing lo an exceptional circumstance
which had occurred in that quarter early in thfe play.

The people had all seated themselves, and the first
act had begun, when the tapestry that screened the
door was lilted gently and a figure appeared in the
opening. The general attention was at this moment
absorbed by the newly disclosed stage, and scarcely
a soul noticed the stranger. Had any one of the
audience turned his head, there would have been suffi-
cient in the countenance to detain his gaze, notwith-
standing the counter-attraction forward.

He was obviously a man who had come from afar.
There was not a square inch about him that had any-
thing to do with modern English life. His visage,
w’hich was of the colour of light porphyry, had little
of its original surface left; it was a face which had
been the plaything of strange fires or pestilences, that
had moulded to whatever shape they chose his originally
supple skin, and left it pitted, puckered, and seamed
like a dried water-course. But though dire catastrophes
or the treacherous airs of remote climates had done
their worst upon his exterior, they seemed to have
affected him but little within, to judge from a cer-
271

A LAODICEAN

tain robustness which showed itself in his manner of
standing.

The &ce-marks had a meaning, for any one who could
read them, beyond the mere suggestion of their ongin :
they signified that this man had cither been the victim
of some terrible necessity as regarded the occupation
to which he had devoted himself, or that he was a man
of dogged obstinacy, from sheer saug Jroid holding his
ground amid malign forces when others would have
fled affrighted away.

As nobody noticed him, he dropped the door hang-
ings after a while, walked silently along the matted alley,
and sat down in one of the back chairs. His manner
of entry was enough to show that the strength of
character which he seemed to possess had phlegm for
its base knd not ardour. One might have said that
perhaps the shocks he had passed through had taken all
his original warmth out of him. His beaver hat, which
he had retained on his head till this moment, he now
placed under the seat, where he sat absolutely motion-
less till the end of the first act, as if he were indulging
in a monologue which did not quite reach his lips.

When Paula entered at the beginning of the second
act he showed as much excitement as was expressed
by a slight movement of the eyes. 'When she spoke
he turned to his next neiglibour, and a'^ked him in
cold level words which had once been English, but
which seemed to have lost the accent of nationality:
* Is that the young woman who is the possessor of this
castle — Power by name ? '

His neighbour happened to be the landlord at
Sleeping-Green, and he informed the stranger that she
was what he supposed.

* And who is that gentleman whose line of business
seems to be to make love to Power ? '

‘ He*s Captain De Stancy, Sir William De Stancy’s
son, who used to own this property.'

S72

DE STANCY

‘ Baronet or knight ? ’

< Baronet — a very old-established family about here.’

The stranger nodded, and the play went on, no
further word being spoken till the fourth act was
reached, when the stranger again said, without taking
his narrow black eyes from the stage : * There’s some-
thing in that love-making between Stancy and Power
that’s not all sham ! ’

‘Well,’ said the landlord, ‘I have heard different
stories about that, and wouldn’t be the man to zay
what I couldn’t swear to. The story is that Captain
De Stancy, who is as poor as a gallicrow, is in full cry
a’ter her, and that his on’y chance lies in his being
heir to a title and the wold name. But she has not
shown a genuine hanker for anybody yet/

* If she finds the money, and this Stancy finds the
name and blood, ’twould be a very neat match between
’em, — hey ? ’

‘ That’s the argument.’

Nothing more was said again for a long time, but
the stranger’s eyes showed more interest in the passes
between Paula and De Stancy than they had shown
before. At length the crisis came, as described in the
last chapter, De Stancy saluting her with that semblance
of a kiss which gave such umbrage to Somerset. The
stranger’s thin lips lengthened a couple of inches with
satisfaction; he put his hand into his pocket, drew
out two half-crowns which he handed to the landlord,
saying, ‘Just applaud that, will you, and get your
comrades to do the same.’

The landlord, though a little surprised, took the money,
and began to clap his hands as desired. The example
was contagious, and spread all over the room ; for the
audience, gentle and simple, though they might not have
followed the blank verse in all its bearings, could at least
appreciate a kiss. It was the unusual acclamation raised
by this means which had led Somerset to turn his head.

273 s

A LAODICEAN

When the play had ended the stranger was the ftrst
to rise, and going downstairs at the head of the crowd
he passed out of doors, and was lost to view. Some
questions were asked by the landlord as to the stranger’s
individuality ; but few had seen him ; fewer had noticed
him, singular as he was ; and none knew his name.

While these things had been going on in the quarter
allotted to the commonalty, Somerset in front had waited
the fall of the curtain with those sick and sorry feelings
which should be combated by the aid of philosophy and
a good conscience, but which really are only subdued
by time and the abrading rush of affairs. He was,
however, stoical enough, when it was all over, to accept
Mrs. Goodman’s invitation to accompany her to the
drawing-room, fully expecting to find there a large com-
pany, including Captain De Stancy.

But none of the acting ladies and gentlemen had
emerged from their dressing-rooms as yet. Feeling
that he did not care to meet any of them that night, he
Imde farewell to Mrs. Goodman after a few minutes of
conversation, and left her. While he was passing along
the corridor, at the side of the gallery which had been
used as the theatre, Paula crossed it from the latter
apartment towards an opposite door. She was still in
the dress of the Princess, and the diamond and pearl
necklace still hung over her bosom as placed there by
Captain De Stancy.

Her eye caught Somerset’s, and she stopped. Pro-
bably there was something in his face which told his
mind, for she invited him by a smile into the room
she was entering.

*I congratulate you on your performance,’ he said
mechanically, when she pushed to the door.

* Do you really think it was well done ? ’ She drew
near him with a sociable air.

‘ It was startlingly done — ^the part from “ Romeo and
Juliet” pre-eminently so.’

274

DE StANCV

* Do you tliink 1 knew he was going to introduce it,
or do you think I didn't know?* she said, with that
gentle sauciness which shows itself in the loved on^’s
manner when she has had a triumphant evening without
the lover’s assistance.

‘ I think you may have known.’

‘ No,* she averred, decisively shaking her head. ‘ It
took me as much by surprise as it probably did you.
But why should 1 have told ! *

Without answering that question Somerset went on.
* Then what he did at the end of his gag was of course
a surprise also.*

‘He didn’t really do what he seemed to do,* she
serenely answered.

‘ Well, I have no right to make observations — ^your
actions are not subject to my surveillance; you float
above my plane,* said the young man with some bitter-
ness. ‘ But to speak plainly, surely he — ^kissed you ? *

‘ No,’ she said. ‘ He only kissed the air in front ol
me — ever so far off.’

* Was it six inches off? *

‘ No, not six inches.*

‘ Nor three.’

‘ It was quite one,’ she said with an ingenuous air.

‘ I don’t call that very far.’

* A miss is as good as a mile, says the time-hoij^ured
proverb ; and it is not for us modern mortals to question
its truth.’

‘ How can you be so off-hand ! ’ broke out Somerset.
‘I love you wildly and desperately, Paula, and you
know it well I *

‘ I have never denied knowing it,* she said softly.

‘ Then why do you, with such knowledge, adopt an
air of levity at such a moment as this ! You keep me
at arm’s-length, and won’t say whether you care for me
one bit, or no. I have owned all to you; yet never
once have you owned anything to me ! *

27S

A LAODICEAN

‘ I have owned much. And you do me wrong if you
consider that I show levity. But even if I had not
owned everything, and you all, it is not altogether such
a grievous thing.’

‘ You mean to say that it is not grievous, even if a
man does love a woman, and suffers all the pain of
feeling he loves in vain? Well, I say it is quite the
reverse, and I have groiinds for knowing.’

‘Now, don’t fume so, George Somerset, but hear
me. My not owning all may not have the dreadful
meaning you think, and therefore it may not be really
such a grievous thing. There are genuine reasons for
women’s conduct in these matters as well as for men’s,
though it is sometimes supposed to be regulated entirely
by caprice. And if I do not give way to every feeling
— I mean demonstration — it is because I don't want
to. There now, you know what that implies; and be
content.’

‘Very well,’ said Sc'merset, with repressed sadness,
‘ I will not expect you to say more. But you do like
me a little, Paula ? ’

‘ Now ! ’ she said, shaking her head with symptoms of
tenderness and looking into his eyes. ‘ What have you
just promised ? Perhaps I like you a little more than a
little, which is much too much! Yes, — Shakespeare
says so, and he is always right. Do you still doubt me ?
Ah, I see you do ! ’

‘ Because somebody has stood nearer to you to-night
than I.’

‘ A fogy like him I — half as old again as either of us !
How can you mind him ? What shall I do to show you
that I do not for a moment let him come between me
and you ? ’

‘ It is not for me to suggest what you should do.
Though what you shpuld permit me to do is obvious
enough.’ ‘

She dropped her voire : ‘ You mean, permit you to
276

DE STANCY

do really and in earnest what he only seemed to do in
the play/

Somerset signified by a look that such had been his
thought. t

Paula was silent. *No/ she murmured at last.
* That cannot be. He did not, nor must you.’

It was said none the less decidedly for being spoken
low.

<You quite resent such a suggestion: you have a
right to. I beg your pardon, not for speaking of it, but
for thinking it.’

* I don’t resent it at all, and I am not offended one
bit. But I am not the less of opinion that it is possible
to be premature in some things ; and to do this just now
would be premature. I know what you would say —
that you would not have asked it, but for that unfortunate
improvisation of it in the play. But that I was not
responsible for, and therefore owe no reparation to you
now. . . . Listen ! *

* Paula — Paula ! Where in the world are you ? ’ was
heard resounding along the corridor in the voice of her
aunt. ‘ Our friends are all ready to leave, and you will
surely bid them good-night 1 ’

* I must be gone — I won’t ring for you to be shown
out — come this way.’

‘ But how will you get on in repeating the play to-
morrow evening if that interpolation is against your
wish ? ’ he asked, looking her hard in the face.

* I’ll think it over during the night. Come to-morrow
morning to help me settle. But,’ she added, with coy
yet genial independence, ‘ listen to me. Not a word
more about a — what you asked for, mind! I don’t
want to go so far, and I will not — not just yet anyhow
— I mean perhaps never. You must promise that, or I
cannot see you again alone.’

‘ It shall be as you request.’

* Very well. And not a word of this to a soul. My

2J7

A LAODICEAN

aunt suspects: but she is a good aunt and will say
nothing. Now that is clearly understood, I should be
glad to consult with you to-monow early. I will come
to you in the studio or Pleasance as soon as I am
disengaged.’

She took him to a little chamfered doorway in the
comer, whkh opened into a descending turret; and
Somerset went down. When he had unfastened the
door at the bottom, and stepped into the lower corridor,
she asked, ‘Are you down?’ And on receiving an
affirmative reply she closed the top door.

DE STANCy

X

Somerset was in the studio the next morning about
ten o’clock superintending the labours of Knowles,
Bowles, and Cockton, whom he had again engaged to
assist him with the dra\^ings on his appointment to
carry out the works. When he had set them going he
ascended the staircase of the great tower for some
purpose that bore upon the forthcoming repairs of this
part. Passing the door of the telegraph-room he heard
little sounds from the instrument, which somebody was
working. Only two people in the castle, to the best of
his knowledge, knew the trick of this ; Miss Power, and
a page in her service called John. Miss De Stancy could
also despatch messages, but she was at Myrtle Villa.

The door was closed, and much as he would have
liked to enter, the possibility that Paula was not the
performer led him to withhold his steps. He went on
to where the uppermost masonry had resisted the mighty
hostility of the elemei^ts for five hundred years without
receiving worse dilapidation than half-a-century produces
upon the face of man. But he still wondered who was
telegraphing, and whether the message bore on house-
keeping, architecture, theatricals, or love.

Could Somerset have seen through the panels of the
door in passing, he would have beheld the room occu-
pied by Paula alone.

279

A LAODICEAN

It was she who sat at the instrument, and the message
she was despatching ran as under : —

* Can you send down a competent actress, who will undertake
the part of Princess of France in “Lpve’s Labour’s Lost” this
evening in a temporary theatre here? Dresses already provided
suitable to a lady about the middle height. State pi ice.’

The telegram was addressed to a well-known theatri-
cal agent in London.

Off went the message, and Paula retired into the
next room, leaving the door open between that and the
one she had just quitted. Here she busied herself with
writing some letters, till in less than an hour the tele-
graph instrument showed signs of life, and she hastened
back to its side. The reply received from the agent
was as follows : —

‘ Miss Barbara Bell of the Regent’s Theatre could come. Quite
competent. Her terms would be about twenty-five guineas ”

Without a moment’s pause Paula returned for
answer ; —

‘ The terms are quite satisfactory.’

Presently she heard the instrument again, and emerg-
ing from the next room in which she had passed the
intervening time as before, she read : —

* Miss Barbara Bell’s terms were Mci^tally understated. They
would be forty guineas, in consequence, distance. Am waiting
at the office for a reply ’

Paula set to work as before and replied : —

’Quite satisfactory ; only let her come at once.*

She did not leave the room this time, but went to

aSo

DE STANCY

an arrow-slit hard by and gazed out at the trees till the
instrument began to speak again. Returning to it with
a leisurely manner, implying a full persuasion that
matter was settled, she was somewhat surprised to learn
that

* Miss Bell, in stating her terms, undeistands that she will not
be required to leave London till the middle of the afternoon. If it
is necessary for her to leave at once, ten guineas extra would be
indispensable, on account of the great inconvenience of such a
short notice.’

Paula seemed a little vexed, but not much concerned •
she sent back with a readiness scarcely politic in the-
circumstances : —

‘ She must stait at once. Price agreed to.*

Her impatience for the answer was mixed with curi-
osity as to whether it was due to the agent or to Miss
Barbara Bell that the prices liad grown like Jack^s
Bean-stalk in the negotiation. Another telegram duly
came: —

‘ Travelling expenses are expected to be paid.*

With decided impatience she dashed off: —

* Of coarse ; but nothing more will be agreed to.’

Then, and only Jhan^ came the desired reply : —

1

* Miss Bell starts by the twelve o'clock train.’

This business being finished, Paula left the chamber
and descended into the inclosure called the Pleasance,
a spot grassed down like a lawn. Here stood Somerseti
who, having come down from the tower, was looking on
while a man searched for old foundations under the sod
sSx

A LAODICEAN

with a crowbar. He was glad to see her at last, and
noticed that she looked serene and relieved ; but could
not for the moment divine the cause. Paula came
nearer, returned his salutation, and regarded the man’s
operations in silence awhile till his work led him to a
distance from Aem.

‘ Do you ml vdsh to consult me ? * asked Somerset.

‘ About the building perhaps,’ said she. * Not about
the play.’

‘ But you said so ? ’

* Yes j but it will be unnecessary.’

Somerset thought this meant skittishness, and merely
bowed.

‘You mistake me as usual,’ she said, in a low
tone. ‘ I am not going to consult you on that matter,
because 1 have done all you could have asked for
^vithout consulting you. I take no part in the play
to-night.’

‘ Forgive my momentary doubt ! ’

‘Somebody else will play for me — ^an actress from
London. But on no account must the substitution be
known beforehand or the performance to-night will
never come off : and that I should much regret.’

‘ Captain De Stancy will not play his part if he knows
you will not play yours — that’s what you mean ? ’

‘You may suppose it is,’ she said, smiling. ‘And
to guard against this you must help me to keep the
secret by being my confederate.’

To Paula’s confederate ; to-day, indeed, time had
brought him something worth waiting for. ‘In any-
thing ! ’ cried Somerset

‘ Only in this I ’ said she, with soft severity. ‘ And
you know what you have promised, George ! And you
remember there is to be no — what we talked about 1
Now will you go in the one-horse brougham to Mark-
ton Station this afternoon, and meet the four o’clock
train ? Inquire for a lady for Stancy Castle — a Miss
282

DE STANCY

Bell; see her safely into the carriage, and send her
straigj^ on here. T am particularly anxious that she
shou]jftj||)t qpter the town, for I think she once came
to Mai^on in a starring company, and she might be
recognized, and my plan be defeated.’

Thus she instructed her lover and devoted friend ;
and when he could stay no longer he leftj||sr in the
garden to return to his studio. As Somerset went in
by the garden door he met a strange-looking personage
coming out by the same passage — a stranger, with the
manner of a Dutchman, the face of a smelter, and the
clothes of an inhabitant of Guiana. The stranger, whom
we have already seen sitting at the back of the theatre
the night before, looked hard from Somerset to Paula,
and from Paula again to Somerset, as he stepped out.
Somerset had an unpleasant conviction that this queer
gentleman had been standing for some time in the
doorway unnoticed, quizzing him and his mistress as
they talked together. If so he might have learnt a
secret.

When he arrived upstairs, Somerset went to a
window commanding a view of the garden. Paula still
stood in her place, and the stranger was earnestly con-
versing with her. Soon they passed round the corner
and disappeared.

It was now time for him to see about starting for
Markton, an intelligible zest for circumventing the
ardent and coercive captain of artillery saving him
from any unnecessary delay in the journey. He was
at the station ten minutes before the train was due :
and when it drew up to the platform the first person
to jump out was Captain De Stancy in sportsman’s
attire and with a gun in lus hand. Somerset nodded,
and De Stancy spoke, informing the architect that
he had been' ten miles up the line shooting water-
fowl. ‘ That’s Miss Power’s carriage, I think,* he
added.

283

A LAODICEAN

‘Yes/ said Somerset carelessly. ‘She expects a
friend, I believe. We shall see you at the castle again
to-night ? ’

De Stancy assured him that they would, and the
two men parted, Captain De Stancy, when he had
glanced to see that the carriage was empty, going on
to wljere a porter stood with a couple of spaniels.

Somerset now looked again to the train. While his
back had been turned to converse with the captain, a
lady of iive-and-thirty had alighted from the identical
compartment occupied by De Stancy. She made an
inquiry about getting to Stancy Castle^ upon which
Somerset, who had not till now observed her, went
forward, and introducing himself assisted her to the
carriage and saw her safely off.

De Stancy had by this time disappeared, and
Somerset walked on to his rooms at the Lord-Quantock-
Arms, where he remained till he had dined, picturing
the discomfiture of his alert rival when there should
enter to him as Princess, not Paula Power, but Miss
Bell of the Regent’s Theatre, lx>ndon. Thus the hour
passed, till he found that if he meant to see the issue
of the plot it was time to be off*.

On arriving at the castle, Somerset entered by the
public door from the hall as before, a natural delicacy
leading him to feel that though he might be welcomed
as an ally at the stage-door — in other words, the door
from the corridor — ^it was advisable not to take too
ready an advantage of a privilege which, in the existing
secr^y of his understanding with Paula, might lead tp
an overthrow of her plans on that point.

Not intending to sit out the whole performance,
Somerset contented himself with standing in a window
recess near the proscenium, whence he could observe
both the stage add the front rows of spectators. He
was quite uncertain whether Paula would appear among
the audience to night, and resolved to wait events.

*84

DE STANCY

Just before the rise of the curtain the young in
question entered and sat down. When the scenery
was disclosed and the King of Navarre appeared, what
was Somerset’s surprise to find that, though the part
was the part taken by De Stancy on the previous
night, the voice was that of Mr. Mild ; to hiiii,^al||||fce
appointed season, entered the Princess, namely^ '^iiiss ‘
Barbara Bell.

Before Somerset had recovered from his crestfallen
sensation at De Stancy’s elusiveness, that officd^* himself
emerged in evening dress from behind a curtain fomiing
a wing to the proscenium, and Somerset remarked that
the minor part originally allotted to him was filled by
the subaltern who had enacted it the night before,
De Stancy glanced across, whether by accident or
otherwise Somerset could not determine, and his glance
seemed to say he quite recognized there had been a
trial of \\its between them, and that, tlianks to his
chance meeting with Miss Bell in the train, his had
proved the stronger.

The house being less crowded to-night there w^ere
one or two vacant chairs in the best part. De Stancy,
advancing from where he had stood for a few moments,
seated himself comfortably beside Miss Power.

On the other side of her he now perceived the same
queer elderly foreigner (as he appeared) who had come
to her in the garden that morning, Somerset was
surprised to perceive also that Paula with very little
hesitation introduced him and De Stancy to each other.
A conversation ensued between the three, none the less
animated for being carried on in a whisper, in which.
Paula seemed on strangely intimate terms with the
stranger, and the stranger to show feelings of great
friendship for De Stancy, considering that they must
be new acquaintances.

The play proceeded, and Somerset still lingered in
his corner. He could not help fencying that
28s

A LAODICEAN

Stancy’s ingenious relinquishment of his part, and its
obvious reason, was winning Paula’s admiration. His
conduct was homage carried to unscrupulous and in-
convenient lengths, a sort of thing which a woman may
chide, but which she can never resent. Who could do
otherwise than talk kindly to a man, incline a little to
him, and condone his fault, when the sole motive of so
audacious an exercise of his wits was to escape acting
with any other heroine than herself.

His * conjectures were brought to a pause by the
ending of the comedy, and the opportunity afforded
him of joining the group in front. The mass of people
were soon gone, and the knot of friends assembled
around Paula were discussing the merits and faults of
the two days’ performance.

'My uncle, Mr. Abner Power,’ said Paula sud-
denly to Somerset, as he came near, presenting the
stranger to the astonished young man. *I could not
see you before the performance, ds I should have
liked to do. The return of my uncle is so extraor-
dinary tlji^t it ought to be told in a less hurried way
than this. He has l^een supposed dead by all of Ub
for nearly ten years — ever since the time we last heard
from him.’

'For which I am to blame,’ said Mr. Power, nod-
ding to Paula’s architect. ‘Yet not I, but accident
and a sluggish temperament. There are times, Mr.
Somerset, when the human creature feels no interest
in his kind, and assumes that his kind feels no
interest in him. The feeling is not active enough
to make him fly from their presence ; but sufficient to
keep him silent if he happens to be away. I may
not have described it precisely'; but this I know, that
after my long ^illness, and the fancied neglect of my
letters ’

* For which my father ww not to blame, since he did
not receive them,’>^aid Paula.

286

DE gTANCY

‘ For which nobody was to blame — after that, I say,
I wrote no more.*

*You have much pleasure returning at last, no
doubt,* said Somerset.

‘ Sir, as I remained away without particular pain,
so I return without particular joy. I speak the truth,
and no compliments. I may ^d that there is one
exception to this absence of feeling from my heart,
namely, that I do derive great satisfaction from seeing
how mightily this young woman has grown and pre-
vailed.*

This address, though delivered nominally to Somerset,
was listened* to by Paula, Mrs. Goodman, and De Stancy
also. After uttering it, the speaker turned away, and
continued his previous conversation with Captain De
Stancy. From this time till the group parted he never
again spoke directly to Somerset, paying him barely so
much attention as he might have expected as Paula*s
architect, and ceitainly less than he might have supposed
his due as her accepted lover.

The result of the appearance, as from the tomb, of
this wintry man was that the evening endlfl in a frigid
and formal way which gave little satisfaction to the
sensitive Somerset, who was abstracted and constrained
by reason of thoughts on how this resuscitation of the
uncle would affect his relation with Paula, It was pos-
sibly also the thought of two at least of the others. There
had, in truth, scarcely yet been time enough to adum-
brate the possibilities opened up by this gentleman’s
return.

The only private word exchanged by Somerset with
any one that night was with Mrs. Goodman, in whom
he always recognized a friend to his cause, though the
fluidity of her character rendered her but a feeble/Rle at
the best of times. She infdrmed him^fthat Mr. Power
had no sort of legal control over Pau]|gi/ ot direction in
her estates ; but Somerset could |^t doutit that a near

A I.AODICEAN

and ^ he possessed but hali

the static force 8 [ maiacter that made itself apparent in
Mr. Power, might exercise considerable moral influence
over the girl if he chose. And in view of Mr. Power’s
muked preference for De Stancy, Somerset had many
misgivings as to its operating in a direction favourable
to himself.

DE 8TANCY

XI

Somerset was deeply engaged with his draughts-
men and builders during the three following days, and
scarcely entered the occupied wing of the castle.

At his suggestion Paula had agreed to have the
works executed as such operation® were carried out in
old times, before the advent of contractors. Each trade
required in the building was to be represented by a
master-tradesman of that denomination, who should stand
responsible for his own section of labour, and for no
other, Somerset himself as chief technicist%or^ng out
his designs on the spot. By this means the thorough-
ness of the workmanship would be greatly increased in
comparison with the modern arrangement, whereby a
nominal builder, seldom present, who can certainly know
no more than one trade intimately and well, and who
often does not know that, undertakes the whole.

But notwithstanding its manilest advantages to the
proprietor, the plan added largely to the responsibilities
of the ar^itect, who, with his master-mason, master-
carpenter, master-plumber, and what not, had scarcely a
moment to call his own. Still, the method being upon
the face of it the true one, Somerset supervised with a
will.

But there seemed to float across the court to him
from the inhabited wing an intimation that things were
289 t

A LAODICEAN

not as they had been before ; that an influenoB^ad^rse
jto himself was at work behind the ashlared^g^pf hiner
wall which confronted him. Perhaps this ’ros because
^e never saw Paula at the windows, or heara her footfall
in that half of the building given over to himself and
his myrmidons. There was really no reason other than
a sentimental one why he should see her. The unin-
habited part of the castle was almost an independent
structure, and it was quite natural to exist for weeks in
this wing without coming in contact with residents in
the other.

A more pronounced cause than vague surmise was
destined to perturb him, and this in an unexpected
manner. It happened one' morning that he glanced
through a local paper while waiting at the Lord-Quantock-
Arms for the pony-carriage to be brought round in
which he often drove to the castle. The paper was two
days old, but to his unutterable amazement he read
therein a paragraph which ran as follows : —

*We are informed that a marriage is likely to be arranged
between Cap^n De Stancy, of the Royal Horse Artillery, only
surviving son of Sir William De Stancy, Baronet, and Paula, only
daughter of the late John Power, Esq., M.P., of Stancy Castle.*

Somerset dropped the paper, and stared out of the
window. Fortunately for his emotions, the horse and
carriage were at this moment brought to the door, so
that nothing hindered Somerset in driving off to the
spot at which he would be soonest likely to learn what
truth or otherwise there was in the newspaper report.
From the first he doubted it : and yet how should it
have got there ? Such strange rumours, like paradoxical
maxims, generally include a portion of truth. Five days
had elapsed since he last spoke to Paula.

.Reaching the castle he entered his own quarters as
usual, and after setting the draughtsmen to work walked
up and down pondering how he might best see her
ago

DE STANCY

witli|(ut making the paragraph the ground of his request
for an interview ; for if It were a fabrication, such a reason
would wounA her pride in her own honour towards him,
and if it were partly true, he would certainly do better
in leaving her alone than in reproaching her. It would
simply amount to a proof that Paula was an arrant
coquette.

In his meditation he stood still, closely scanning one
of the jamb-stones of a doorless entrance, as if to dis-
cover where the old hinge-hook had entered the stone-
work. He heard a fqotstep behind him, and looking
round saw Paula standing by. She held a newspaper
in her hand. The spot w^ one quite hemmed in from
observation, a fact of which she seemed to be quite
aware.

‘ I have something to tell you,’ she said ; ‘ something
important. But you are so occupied with that old stone
that I am obliged to wait.^

‘ It is not true surely! ’ he said, looking at the paper.

* No, look here,’ she said, holding up the sheet. It
was not what he had supposed, but a neyr one — the
local rival to that which had contained the announce-
ment, and was still damp from the press. She pointed,
and he read —

* We are authorized to state that there is no foundation whatevei
for the assertion of our contemporary that a marriage is likely tc
l3e arranged between Captain De Stancy and Miss Power of Stancy
Castle.’

Somerset pressed her hand. ‘ It disturbed me,’ he
said, * though I did not believe it.’

* It astonished me, as much as it disturbed you ; and
I sent this contradiction at once.’

* How could it have got there ? ’

She shook her head.

•You have not the least knowledge?’

‘Not the least. I wish I had.’

A LAODICEAN

*It was not from any friends of De Stancy’s? ot
himself? '

‘It was not. His sister has ascertained beyond
doubt that he knew nothing of it. Well, now, don’t
say any more to me about the matter.’

‘ I’ll find out how it got into the paper.’

‘ Not now — any future time will do. I have some-
thing else to tell you.’

‘I hope the news is as good as the last,’ he said,
looking into her face with anxiety ; for though that face
was blooming, it seemed full of 4 doubt as to how her
next information would be taken.

‘ O yes ; it is good, becauite everybody says so. We
are going to take a delightful journey. My new-created
uncle, as he seems, and I, and my aunt, and perhaps
Charlotte, if she is well enough, are going to Nice, and
other places about there.’

‘ To Nice ! ’ said Somerset, rather blankly. ‘ And I
must stay here ? ’

‘Why, of course you must, considering what you
have undertaken ! ’ she said, looking with saucy com-
posure into his eyes. ‘ My uncle’s reason for proposing
the journey just now is, that he thinks the alterations
will make residence here dusty and disagreeable during
the spring. The opportunity of going with him is too
good a one for us to lose, as I have never been there.’

‘ I wish I was going to be one of the party ! . . .
What do you wish about it ? ’

She shook her head impenetrably. ‘ A woman may
wish some things she does not care to tell ! ’

‘ Are you really glad you are going, dearest ? — as I
must call you just once,’ said the young man, gazing
earnestly into her face, which struck him as looking far
too rosy and radiant to be consist|)|lit with ever so little
regret at leaving him behind.

‘I take great interest in foreign trips, especially to
the shores of the Mediterranean : and everybody makes
292

DE STANCY

a point of getting away when the house is turned out of
the window.'

* But you do feel a little sadness, such as I should
feel if our positions were reversed ? ' ’

*I think you ought not to have asked that so in-
credulously,' she murmured. ‘We can be near each
other in spirit, when our bodies are far apart, can we
not ? ' Her tone grew softer and she drew a little closer
to his side with a slightly nestling motion, as she went
on, * May I be sure that you will not think unkindly of
me when I am absent from your sight, and not begrudge
me any little pleasure because you are not there to share
it with me ? '

‘May you! Can you ask it?'. . As for me, I
shall have no pleasure to be begrudged or otherwise.
The only pleasure I have is, as you well know, in you.
When you are with me, I am happy when you are
away, I take no pleasure in anything.'

‘ I don’t deserve it I have no light to disturb you
so,' she said, very gently. ‘ But I have given you some
pleasure, have I not? A little more pleasure than pain,
perhaps ? '

‘You have, and yet. . . ButT don’t accuse you,
dearest. Yes, you have given me pleasure. One truly
pleasant time was when we stood together in the
summer-house on the evening of the garden-party, and
you said you liked me to love you.'

‘ Yes, it was a pleasant time,' she returned thought-
fully. ‘ How the rain came down, and formed a gauze
between us and the dancers, did it not ; and how afraid
we were — at least I was — lest anybody should discover
us there, and how quickly I ran in after the rain was
over ! *

‘ Yes', said Somerset, ‘ I remember it. But no harm
came of it to you. . . . And perhaps no good will come
of it to me.'

‘ Do not be piemature in your conclusions, sir,’ she
293

A LAODICEAN

said archly. ‘If you really do feel for me only half
what you say, wc shall — ^you will make good come of it
— in some way or other.’

‘ Dear Paula — now I believe you, and can bear any-
thing.’

‘ Then we will say no more ; Ixicause, as you recollect,
we agreed not to go too far. No expostulations, for we
are going to be practical young people ; besides, I won’t
listen if you utter them. I simply echo your words, and
say I, too, believe you. Now I must go. Have faith in
me, and don’t magnify trifles light as air.’

‘I /AM 1 understand you. And if I do, it will
make a great difference in my conduct. You will have
no cause to complain.’

‘ Then you must not understand me so much as to
make much difference ; for your conduct as my architect
is perfect. But I must not linger longer, though I
wished you to know this news from my very own lips.’

‘ Bless you for it ! When do you leave ? ’

‘ The day after to-morrow.’

‘ So early ? Does your uncle guess anything ? Do
^ou wish him to be told just yet ? ’

‘ Yes, to the first ; no, to the second.’

‘ I may write to you ? ’

‘ On business, yes. It will be necessary.’

‘ How can you speak so at a time of parting? ’

‘ Now, George — you see I say George, and not Mr.
Somerset, and you may draw your own inference — don’t
oe so morbid in you^eproaches ! I have informed you
:hat you may write, or ijstill better, telegraph, since the
wire is so handy — on business. Well, of teurse, it is
or you to judge whether yoh will add pouscripts of
mother sort. There^ you make me say m«e than a
woman ought, because^ you are^^o dbtuse and literal.
3ood afternoon — good-bye! Tms will be iriy address.’

She handed him a slip of paper, and flitted away.

Though he saw her again 2fter this, it wal^ during the
294

DE STANCY

bustle of preparation, when there was always a third
person present, usually in the shape of tliat breathing
refrigerator, her uncle. Hence the few words that passed
Ijetween them were of the most formal description, and
chiefly concerned the restoration of the castle, and a
church at Nice designed by him, which hi wanted her to
inspect.

They were to leave by an early afternoon train, and
Somerset was invited to lunch on that day. The morning
was occupied by a long business consultation in the
studio with Mr. Power and Mrs. Goodman on what
rooms were to be left locked up, what left in charge of
the servants, and what thrown open to the builders and
workmdh under the surveillance of Somerset. At present
the work consisted mostly of repairs to existing rooms,
so as to render those habitable which had long been used
only as stores for lumber. Paula did not appear during
this discussion; but when they were all seated in the
dining-hall she came in dressed for the journey, and,
to outward appearance, with blithe anticipation at its
prospect blooming from every feature. Next to her came
Charlotte De Stancy, still with some of the pallor of
an invalid, but wonderfully brightened up, as Somerset
thought, by the prospect of a visit to a delightful shore.
It might have been this ; and it might have been that
Somerset’s presence had a share in the change.

It was in the hall, when they were in the bustle of
leave-taking, that there occurred the;* only opportunity
for the two or three private word%with Paula to which
his star treated him on that list day. His took the
hasty form of, * You will write soon ? ’

‘ Telegraphing will be quicker,’ she answered in the
samelow^one ; apd whispering ‘ Be true to me ! ’ turned
away.

How unreasonable he was! In addition to those
words, wartn as th^ were, he would have preferred a
little pal^&s^of cheek, or trembling of lip, instead of

295

A LAODICEAN

the bloom and the beauty which sat upon her undis>
turbed maidenhood, to tell him that in some slight way
she suffered at his loss.

Immediately after tliis they went to the carriages
waiting at the door. Somerset, who had in a measure
taken charge of the castle, accompanied them and saw
them off, much as if they were his visitors. She stepped
in, a general adieu was spoken, and she was gone.

Ij^hile the carriages rolled away, he ascended to the
top of the tower, where he saw them lessen to spots on
the road, and turn the corner out of sight. The chances
of a rival seemed to grow in proportion as Paula receded
from his side; but he could not have answered why.
He had bidden her and her relatives adieu on her own
doorstep, like a privileged friend of the family, while De
Stancy had scarcely seen her since the play-night. That
the silence into which the captain appeared to have sunk
was the placidity of conscious power, was scarcely pro-
bable ; yet that adventitious aids existed for De Stancy
he could not deny. The link formed by Charlotte
between De Stancy and Paula, much, as he liked the
ingenuous girl, was one that he could have wished away.
It constituted a bridge of access to Paula's inner life
and feelings whichftnothing could rival ; except^that one
fact which, as he firmly believed, did actually rival it,
giving him faith and hope ; his own primary occupation
of Paula’s heart. Moreover, Mrs, Goodman would be
an influence favourable to himself and his cause during
the journey ; though, to be sure, to set against her there
was the phlegmatic and obstinate Abner Power, in whom,
apprised by those subtle media of intelligence which
lovers possess, he fancied he saw no friend.

Somerset remained but a short time at the castle
that day. The light of its chambers had fled, the gross
grandeur of the dictatorial towers oppressed him, and
the studio was hateful. He remembered a promise
made long ago to Mr. Woodwell of calling fijK)n him
296

DE STANCY

some afternoon ; and a visit which had not much attrac-
tiveness in it at other times recommended itself now,
through being the one possible way open to him ^ of
hearing Paula named and her doings talked of. Hence
m walking back to Markton, instead of going up the
High Street, he turned aside into the unfrequented foot-
way that led to the minister’s cottage.

Mr. Woodwell was not indoors at the moment of his
call, and Somer«-ct lingered at the doorway, and cast lys
eyes around. It was a house which typified the drearier
tenets of its occupier with great exactness. It stood
upon its spot of earth without any natural union with
it : no mosses disguised the stiff straight line where wall
met earth; not a creeper softened the aspect of the
baie front. The garden walk was strewn with loose
clinkers from the neighbouring foundry, which rolled
under the pedestrian’s foot and jolted his soul out of
him before he reached the porchless door. But all was
clean, and clear, and dry.

Whether Mr. Woodwell was personally responsible
for this condition of'things there was not time to closely
consider, for Somerset perceived the minister coming
up the walk towards him. Mr. Woodwell welcomed
him heartily; and yet with the mien df a man whose
mind has scarcely dismissed some scene which has pre-
ceded the one that confronts him. What that scene
was soon transpired. * »

‘ I have had a busy afternoon,’ said the minister, as
they walked indoors ; ‘ or rather an exciting afternoon.
Your client at Stancy Castle, whose uncle, as I imagine^
you know, has so unexpectedly returned, has left with
him to-day for the south of France ; and I wished to ask
her before her departure some questions as to how a
charity organized by her father was to be administered
in her absence. ** But I have been very unfortunate.
She could not find time to see me at her own house,
and I awaited her at the station, all to no purpose,
297

A LAODICEAN

owing to the presence of her friends. Well, well, 1
must see if a letter will find her.’

Somerset asked if anybody of the neighbourhood
was there to see them off.

‘ Yes, that was the trouble of it. Captain De Stancy
was there, and quite monopolized her. I don’t know
what ’tis coming to, and perhaps I have no business to
inquire, since she is scarcely a memlxir of pur church
now. Who could have anticipated the daughter of
my old friend John Power developing into the ordinary
gay woman of the world as she has done ? Who could
have expected her to associate with people who show
contempt for their Maker’s intentions by flippantly
assuming otlier characters than those in which He
created them ? ’

‘ You mistake her,’ murmured Somerset, in a voice
which he vainly endeavoured to attune to philosophy.

* Miss Power has some very rare and beautiful qualities
in her nature, though I confess I tremble — fear lest the

Stancy influence should be too strong.*

‘Sir, it is already! Do you remember my telling
you that I thought the force of her surroundings would
obscure the pure daylight of her spirit, as a monkish
window of coloured images attenuates the rays of God’s
sun ? U do not wish to indulge in rash surmises, but
her oscillation from her family creed of Calvinistic
truth towards the traditions of the De Stancys has
been so decided, though so gradual, that— well, I may
be wrong.’

‘ That what ? ’ said the young man sharply.

‘ I sometimes think she will take to her as husband
the present representative of that impoverished line —
Captain De Stancy-^which she may easily dO| if she
chooses, as his behaviour to-day showed.*

* He was probably there on account sister,*

said Somerset, trying to escape the mentAS^||cture of
farewell gallantries bestowed on Paula.

298

m STANCY

‘ It was hinted at in the papers the other day.’

‘ And it was flatly contradicted.’

• Yes. Well, wc shall see in the Lord’s good time .
I can do no more for her. And now, Mr. Somerset,
pray take a cup of tea.’

The revelations of the minister depressed Somerset
a little, and he did not stay long. As he went to the
door Woodwell said, ‘There is a worthy man — the
deacon of our chapel, Mr. Havill — who would like to
be friendly with you. Poor man, since the death of his
wife he seems to have something on his mind — some
trouble which iny words will not reach. If ever yoa
are passing his door, please give him a look in. He
fears that calling on you might be an intradon.’

Somerset did not clearly i)romise, and went his
way. The minister's allusion to the announcement
of the marriage reminded Somerset that she had ex-
pressed a wish to know how the paragraph came to be
inserted. The wish had been carelessly spoken; but
he went to the newspaper office to make inquiries on
the point.

The reply was unexpected. The reporter informed
his questioner that in returning from the theatricals,
at which he was present, he shared a fly with a gentle-
man who assured him that such an alliance was certain,
so obviously did it recommend itself to all concerned,
as a means of strengthening both families. The gentle-
man’s knowledge of the Powers was so precise that
the reporter did not hesitate to accept his assertion.
He was a man who had seen a great deal of the
world, and his face was noticeable for the seams and
scars on it.

Somerset recognized Paula’s uncle in the portrait.

Hostilities, then, were beginning. The paragraph
had been m&int as the first slap. Taking her abroad
was the second.

BOOK THE FOURTH

SOMERSET, DARE AND DE STANCY

SOMERSET. DARE. AND DE STANCY

SOOJC THE FOURTH
SOMERSET, DARE, AND DE STANCY

I

There was no part of Paula’s journey in which
Somerset did not think of her. He imagined her in
the hotel at Havre, in her brief rest at Paris ; her drive
past the Place de la Bastille to the Boulevart Maza$ to
take the train for Lyons ; her tedious progress through
the dark of a winter night till she crossed the isothermal
line which told of the beginning of a southern atmos-
phere, and onwafds to the ancient blue sea.

Thus, between the hours devoted to architecture,
he pass^ the next three days. One morning he set
himself, by the help of John, to practise on the tele-
graph instrument, expecting a message. But though
he watched the machine at every opportunity, or kept
some other person on the alert in its neighbourhood,
no metisage arrived to gratify him till after the lapse of
nearly a fortnight. Then she spoke from her new
habitation nine hundred miles away, in these meagre
words : ^

‘Are settled at the address given. Can now attend to any
inquiry about the building.’

The pointed implication that she could attend to

303

A LAODICEAN

inquiries about nothing else, breathed of the veritable
Paula so distinctly that he could forgive its sauciness.
His reply was soon despatched : —

* Will write particulars of our progress. Always the same.’

The last three words formed the sentimental appendage
which she had assured him she could tolerate, and which
he hoped she might desire.

He Silent the remainder of the day in making a little
sketch to show what had been done in the castle since
her departure. This he despatched with a letter of ex-
planation ending in a paragraph of a different tenor : —

‘I have demonstrated our progress as well as I could ; but
another subject has been in my mind, even whilst writing the
former. Ask yourself if you use me well in keeping me a fortnight
befdve you so much as say that you have arrived? The one thing
that reconciled me to your Hepartuie was the thought that I should
hear early from you : my idea of being able to submit to your
absence was based entirely upon that.

‘But I have resolved not to be out of humour, and to believe
that your scheme of reserve is not unreasonable ; neither do I
quarrel with your injunction to keep silence to all relatives. I do
not know anything I can say to show you more plainly my acqui-
escence in your wish “ not to go too far” (in shoit, to keep yourself
dear — by dear I mean not cheap — you have been dear in the other
^ense a long time, as you know), than by not uiging you to go a
single degree further in warmth than you please.’

When this was posted he again turned his attention
to her walls and towers, which indeed were a dumb
consolation in many ways for the lack of herself. There
was no nook in the castle to which he had not access
or could not easily obtain access by applying for the
keys, and this propinquity of things belonging to her
served to keep her image before him even more com
stantly than his memories would have done.

Three days and a half after the despatch of his

304

SOMERSET. DARE, AND DE STANCY

subdued effusion the telegraph called to tell him the
good news that

‘Your letter and drawing are just received. Thanks for the
latter. Will reply to the former by post this afternoon.’

It was with cheerful patience that he attended to his
three draughtsmen in the studio, or walked about the
environs of the fortress during the fifty hours spent by
her presumably tender missive on the road. A light
fleece of snow fell during the second night of waiting,
inverting the position of long-established lights and
shades, and lowering to a dingy grey the approximately
white walls of other weathers ; he coul^ trace the post-
man’s footmarks as he entered over the bridge, knowing
them by the dot of his walking-stick : on entering the
expected letter was waiting upon his table. He looked
at its direction with glad curiosity ; it was the first letter
he had evei received from her,

* H6tel — , Nice, Feb. 14.

‘ My dear Mr. Somerset ’ (the * George,* then, to which she
had so kindly treated him in her last conversation, was not to be
continued in black and white), —

‘ Youi letter explaining the progress of the work, aided by the
sketch enclosed, gave me as clear an idea of the advance made
since my departure as I could have gained by being present. I
feel every confidence in you, and am quite sure the restoration
is in good hands. In this opinion both my aunt and my uncle
coincide. Please act entirely on your own judgment in everything,
and IS soon as you give a certificate to the builders for the first
instalment of their money it will he promptly sent by my solicitors.

• You bid me ask myself if I have used you >^ell in not sending
intelligence of myself till a fortnight after I had left you. Now,
George, don’t be unreasonable I I^t me remind you that, as a
certain apostle said, there are a thousand things lawful which are
not expedient. I say this, not from pride in my own conduct, but
to offer you a very fair explanation of it. Your resolve not to be
out of humour with me suggests that you have been sorely tempted
that way, else why should such a resolve have been necessary?

305

A LAODICEAN

>ou only knew what passes in my mind sometimes you
would pe^aps not be so ready to blame. Shall I tell you ? No.
For, if it is a great emotion, it may afford you a cruel satisfaction
at finding I suffer through separation ; ahd if it be a growing in-
difference to you, it will be indicting gratuitous unhappiness upon
you to say so, if you care for me ; as 1 sotneHmes think you may
do a little,^'

(* O, Paula ! ’ said Somerset.)

' Please which way would you have it ? But it is better that
rou should guess at what I feel than that you should distinctly
know it. Notwithstanding this assertion you will, I know, adhere
to your first prepossession in favour of prftnpjt confessions. In spite
of that, I fear thal^upon trial such promptness would not produce
that happiness whidi your fancy leads you to expect. Your heart
would weary in time, and when once that happens, good-bye to
the emotion you have told me of. Imagine such a case clearly
and you will perceive the probability of what 1 say. At the same
time 1 admit that a woman who is only a creature of evasions and
disguises is very disagreeable.

‘ Do not write very frequently, and never write at all unless you
have some real information about the castle works to communicate.
I will explain to you on another occasion why I make this request
You will possibly set it down as additional evidence of my cold-
heartedness. If so you must ould you also mind writing the
business letter on an independent sheet, with a proper beginning
and ending? Whether you inclose another sheet is of course
optional.— Sincerely yours, Paula Power.’

Somerset had a suspicion tliat her order to him not
to neglect the bu.siness letter was to escape any invidious
remarks from her uncle ^ He wished she. would be more
explicit, so that he might know exactly how matters
stood with them, and whether Abner Power had ever
ventured to express disapproval of him as her lover.

But not knowing, he vraited anxiously for a new
architectural event on which he might legitimately send
her another line. This occurred about a week later,
whesl the men eiigaged in digging foundations dis-
306

SOMERSET, DARE. AND DE STANCY

covered remains of old ones which warranted a modifica-
tion of the original plan. He accordingly sent off
professional advice on the point, requesting her asseS
or otherwise to the amendment, winding up the inquiry
with ‘ Yours faithfully.' On another sheet he wrote : —

* Do you suffer from any unpleasantness in the manner of others
on account of me ? If so, inform me, Paula. I cannot otherwise
interpret your request for the separate sheets. While on this point
I will tell you what I have learnt relative to the authorship of that
false paragraph about your engagement. It was communicated to
the paper by your uncle. Was the syish father to the thought, or
could he have been misled, %s many were, by appearances at the
theatricals ?

* If I am not to write to you without a professional reason, surely
you can write to me without such an excuse ? When you write tell
me of yourself. There is nothing I so much wish to hear of. Write
a great deal about your daily doings, for my mind’s oye keeps those
sweet operations more distinctly before me than my bodily sight does
my own.

‘ You say nothing of having been to look at the chapel-of-ease 1
told you of, the plans of which I made when an aichitect’s pupil,
working in metres instead of feet and inches, to my immense per-
plexity, that the drawings might lie understood by the foreign work-
men. Go there and tell me wh.at you think of its design. 1 can
assure you that every curve thereof is my o\\n.

‘ How I wish you would invite me to run over and see you, if
only for a day or two, for my heart runs after you in a most distracted
manner. Dearest, you entirely fill my life ! But I forget ; we have
resolved not to go v/fy far. But the fact is I am half afraid lest,
with such reticence, you sliould not remember how very much I am
yours, and with what a dogged constancy I shall always remember
von. Paula, somctinles I have horrible misgivings that something
will divide us, especially if wc do not make a moie distinct show oi
our true relationship. True do I say? I mean the relationship
which I think exists between us, but which you do not affirm too
clearly. — Yours always.*

Away southward like the swallow went the tender
lines. He wondered, if she would notice his hint ol

307

A LAODICEAN

being ready to pay her a flying visit, if permitted to do
so. His fancy dwelt on that further side of France, the
very contours of whose shore were now lines of beauty
for him. He prowled in the library, and found interest
in the mustiest facts relating to that place, learning with
aesthetic pleasure that the number of its population
was fifty thousand, that the mean temperature of its
atmosphere was 6o° Fahrenheit, and that the peculiarities
of a mistral were far from agreeable.

He waited over long for her reply ; but it ultimately
came. After the usual business preliminary, she said : —

*As requested, 1 have visited the little church you designed.
It gave me great pleasure to stand before a building whose outline
and details had coip^ from the brain of such a valued^iend and
adviser.’

(‘Valued friend and adviser,* repeated Somerset
critically.)

‘ I like the style much, especially that of the windows — Early
English are they not ? 1 am going to attend service there next
Sunday, because you MC^e the architect, and Jor no godly remon at
alL Does that coniem you ? Kie for youi despondency ! Remember
M. Aurelius : ** This is the chief thing : Be not perturbed ; for all
things are of the nature of ttie Universal.” Indeed I am a little
surprised at your having forebodings, after my assurance to you
before I left. I have none. My opinion is that, to be liappy, it is
best to think that, as we are the product of event.s events will con-
tinue to produce that which is in harmony with us. . . . You are
too faint-hearted, and that’s the truth of it. I advise you not to
abandon yourself to idolatry too readily ; you know what I mean.
It fills me with remorse when I think how very far below such a
position my actual worth removes me.

‘ I should like to receive another letter from you as soon as you
have got over the rnisgiving you speak of, but don’t write too soon.
1 wish I could write anything to raise your spirits, but you may be
so perverse that if, in order to do this, I tell you of the races, routs,
scenery, gaieties, and gambling going on in this place and neigh-
bourhood (into which of course I cannot help being a little drawn),
308

SOMERSET, DARE, AND DE* STANCY

you may declare that my words make you worse than ever. Don’t
pass the line I have set down in the way you were tempted to do in
your last ; and not too many Dearests — ^at least as yet. This is not
a time for effusion. You have my very warm affection, and that’s
enough for the present’

As a love-letter this missive was tantalizing enough,
but since its form was simply a continuation of what
she had practised before she left, it produced no undue
misgiving in him. Far more was he impressed by her
omitting to answer the two important questiorib he had
put to her. First, concerning her uncle’s attitude
towards them, and his conduct in giving such strange
information to the reporter. Second, on his,yBomerset’s,
paying her a flying visit some times during '^the spring.
Since she had requested it, he macft ^|^ha$;l^ in his
reply. When penned, it ran in the woras subjoined,
which, in common with every line of ttiair corre-
spondence, acquired from the strangeness of subsequent
circumstances an interest and a force that perhaps they
did not intrinsically possess.

‘ I*eople cannot * (he wrote) ‘be for ever in good spirits on this
gloomy side of the Channel, even though iiglt|||li;em to be so on
yours. However, that I can abstain from letting you know whether
my spirits are good or otherwise, I will prove in our future corre-
spondence. I admire you more and more, both for the warm feel-
ing towards me which I firmly believe you have, and for your ability
to maintain side by side with it so much dignity and resolution with
regard to foolish sentiment. Sometimes I think I could have put up
with a little more weakness if it had brought with it a little more
tenderness, but I dismiss all that when I mentally survey your other
qualities. I have thought of fifty things to say to you of the too far
sort, not one of any other ; so that your prohibition is very unfortu-
nate, for by it I am doomed to say things that do not rise spontan-
eously to my lips. You say that our shut-up feelings are not to be
mentioned yet How long is the yet to lost ?

‘ Bui, to speak more solemnly, matters grow very serious with us,
Paula— at least with me : and there are times when this restraint is
really unbearable. It is possible to put up with reserve when the

309

A LAODICEAN

reienred being is by one’s side, for the eyes may reveal what the
Ups do not. But when she is absent, what was piquancy becomes
httshness, tender railleries become cruel sarcasm, and tacit under-
standings misunderstandings. However that may be, you shall
never be able to reproach me for touchiness. I still esteem you as
a friend ; I admire you and love you as a woman. This I shall
always do, however unconfiding you prove.’

SOMERSET. DARE. AND DE STANCY

11

Without knowing it, Somerset was drawing near to
a crisis in this soft correspondence which would speedily
put his assertions to the test ; but the knowledge came
upon him soon enough for his peace.

Her next letter, dated March 9th, was the shortest
of all he had received, and beyond the portion devoted
to the building-works it contained only the following
sentences : —

‘ 1 am alinobt angry with you, George, for being vexed because
I am not more effusive. Why should the verbal / love yon be ever
uttered between two beings of opposite sex who have eyes to see
signs? During the seven or eight months that we have known
each other, you have discovered my regard for you, and what more
can you desire ? Would a reiterated assertion of passion really do
any good ? Remember it is a natural instinct with us women to
retain the power of obliging a man to hope, fear, pray, and beseech
as long as we think fit, before wc confess to a reciprocal affection.

‘ I am now going to own to a weakness about which I had in-
tended to keep silent. It will not perhaps add to your respect for
me. My uncle, whom in many^ ways I like, is displeased with me
for keeping up this correspondence so regularly. 1 am quite per-
verse enough to venture to disregard his feelings ; but consideiing
the relationship, and his kindness in other respects, I should prefer
not to do so at present. Honestly speaking, 1 want the courage to
resist him in some things. He said to me tKe other day that he was
very much surprised that I did not depend upon his judgment for
my future happiness. Whether that meant much or little, I have
resolved to communicate with you only by telegrams for the re-
3 ^*

A LAODICEAN

mainder of the time we are here. Please reply by the same means
only. There, now, don't flush and call me names 1 It is for the
best, and we want no nonsense, you and I. Dear George, I feel
more than I say, and if I do not speak more plainly, you will under-
stand what is behind after all I have hinted. I can promise you
that you will not like me less upon knowing me better. Hope ever.
I would give up a good deal for you. Good-bye ! *

This brought Somerset some cheerfulness and a
good deal of gloom. He silently reproached her, who
was apparently so independent, for lacking independ-
ence in such a vital matter. Perhaps it was mere sex,
perhaps it was peculiar to a few, that her independence
and courage, like Cleopatra’s, failed her occasionally at
the last moment.

One curious impression which had often haunted
him now returned with redoubled force. He could
not see himself as the husband of Paula Power in any
likely future. He could not imagine her his wife.
People were apt to run into mistakes in their presenti-
ments; but though he could picture her as queening
it over him, as avowing her love for him unreservedly,
even as compromising herself for him, he could not
‘see her in a state of domesticity with him.

Telegrams being commanded, to the telegraph he
repaired, when, after two days, an immediate wish to
communicate with her led him to dismiss vague con-
jecture on the future situation. His first telegram took
the following form : —

* I give up the letter writing. I will part with anything to please
you but yourself. Your comfort with your relative is the first thing
to be considered : not for the world do I wish you to make divisions
within doors. Yours.*

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed, and on
Saturday a telegram came in reply : —

‘ I can fear, grieve at, and complain of nothing, having your nice
promise to consider my comfort always.*

3x2

SOMERSET. DARE, AND DE STANCY

This was very pretty ; but it admitted little. Such
short messages were in themselves poor substitutes for
letters, but their speed and easy frequency were good
qualities which the letters did not possess. Three days
later he replied : —

* You do not once say to me “Come.” Would such a strange
accident as my" arrival disturb you much ?’

She replied rather quickly : —

* I am indisposed to answer you too clearly. Keep your heart
strong : 'tis a censorious world.'

The vagueness there shown made Somerset per-
emptory, and he could not help replying somewhat more
impetuously than usual : —

* Why do you give me so much cause for anxiety 1 Why treat
me to so much mystification! Say once, distinctly, that what I
have asked is given.*

He awaited for the answer, one day, two days, a
week ; but none came. It was now the end of March,
and when Somerset walked of an afternoon by the river
and pool in the lower part of the grounds, his ear newly
greeted by the small voices of frogs and toads and other
creatures who had been torpid through the winter, he
became doubtful and uneasy that she alone should be
silent in the awakening year.

He waited through a second week, and there was
still no reply. It was possible that the urgency of his
request had tempted her to punish him, and he con-
tinued his walks, to, fro, and around, with as close an
car to the undertones of nature, and as attentive an eye
to the charms of his own art, as the grand passion
would allow. Now came the days of little between
winter and spring. On these excursions, though spring
3^3

A I.AODICEAN

was to the forward during the daylight, winter would
reassert itself at night, and not unfrequently at other
moments. Tepid airs and nipping breezes met on the
confines of sunshine and shade; trembling raindrops
that were still akin to frost crystals dashed themselves
from the bushes as he pursued his way from town to
castle; the birds were like an orchestra waiting for the
signal to strike up, and colour began to enter into the
country round.

But he gave only a modicum of thought to these
proceedings. He rather thought such things as, ‘She
can afford to be saucy, and to find a source of blitheness
in my love, considering the power that wealth gives her
to pick and choose almost where she will.* He was
bound ^ to own, however, that one of the charms 'of
her conversation was the complete absence of the note
of the heiress from its accents. That, other things
equal, her interest would naturally incline to a person
baring the name of De Stancy, was evident from her
avowed predilections. His original assumption, that
she was a personification of the modern spirit, who
had been dropped, like a seed from the bill of a
bird, into a chink of medisevalism, required some
qualification. Romanticbm, which will exist in every
human breast as long as human nature itself exists, had
asserted itself in her. Veneration for things old, not
because of any merit in them, but because of their
long continuance, had developed in her; and her
modern spirit was taking to itself wings and fiying
away. Whether his image was flying with the other
was a question which moved him all the more deeply
n6w that her silence gave him dread of an affirmative
answer.

For another^ seven days he stoically left in suspension
all forecasts of his possibly grim fate in being the
employed and not the beloved. The week passed : he
telegraphed : there was no reply : he had sudden fears
3H

SOMERSET DARE, AND DE STANCY

for her personal safety and resolved to break her com-
mand by writing.

‘ STANCY Castle, April *3.

* Dear Paula, ^Are you ill or in trouble? It b impossible in
the very unquiet state you have put me into your silence that 1
should abstain from writing. Without affectation, you sorely dis-
tress me, and I think you would hardly have done it could you
know what a degree of anxiety you cause. Why, Paula, do you
not write or send to me ? What have I done that you should treat
me like thb? Do write, if it is only to reproach me. 1 am com-
pelled to pass the greater part of the day in thb castle, which
reminds me constantly of you, and yet eternally lacks your presence.
1 am unfortunate indeed that you have not been able to find half-
an-hour during the last month to tell me at least that you are alive.

' You have always been ambiguous, it is true ; but I thought I
saw encouragement in your eyes ; encouragement certainly was in
your eyes, and who would not have been deluded by them and
have believed them sinceie? Yet what tenderness can there be
m a heart that can cause me pain so wilfully !

* There may, of course, be some deliberate scheming on the
part of your relations to intercept our letters ; but 1 cannot think
It. 1 know that the housekeeper has received a letter from your
aunt thb very week, in which she incidentally mentions that
all are well, and in the same place as before. How then can I
excuse you ?

'Then write, Paula, or at least telegraph, as you proposed.
Otherwise I am resolved to take your silence as a signal to treat
your fair words as wind, and to write to you no more.'

A LAODICEAN

III

He despatched the letter, and half-an-hour afterwards
felt sure that it would mortally offend her. But he had
now reached a state of temporary indifference, and could
contemplalte the loss of such a tantalizing property with
reasonable calm.

In the interim of waiting for a reply he was one
day walking to Markton, when, passing Myrtle Villa,
he saw Sir William De Stancy ambling about his
garden-path and examining the crocuses that palisaded
its edge. Sir William saw him and asked him to come
in. Somerset was in the mood for any diversion from
his own affairs, and they seated themselves by the
drawing-room fire.

* I am much alone now,’ said Sir William, ' and if
the weather were not very mild, so that I can get out
into the garden every day, I should feel it a great deal.’

‘ You allude to your daughter’s absence? ’

‘ And my son’s. Strange to say, I do not miss her
so much as I miss him. She offers to return at any
moment; but I do not wish to deprive her of the
advantages of a little foreign travel with her friend.
Always, Mr. Somerset, give your spare time to foreign
countries, especially those which contrast with your own
in topography, language, and art. That’s my advice to
all young people of your age. Don’t waste your money
316

SOMERSET. DARE. AND D£ STANCY

on expensive amusements at home. Practise the
strictest economy at home, to have a margin for going
abroad.*

Economy, which Sir William had never practised,
but to which, after exhausting all other practices, he
now raised an altar,, as the Athenians did to the un-
known God, was a topic likely to prolong itself on the
baronet’s lips, and Somerset contrived to interrupt him
by asking —

* Captain De Stancy, too, has gone ? Has the artillery,
then, left the barracks ? ’

‘No,’ said Sir William. ‘But my son has made
use of his leave in running over to see his sister at
Nice.’

The current of quiet meditation in Somerset changed
to a busy whirl at this reply. That Paula should
become indifferent to his existence from a sense of
superiority, physical, spiritual, or social, was a suffi-
ciently ironical thing; but that she should have relin-
quished him because of the presence of a rival lent
commonplace dreariness to her cruelty.

Sir William, noting nothing, continued in the tone
of clever childishness which characterized him: ‘It is
very singular how the present situation has been led up
to by me. Policy, and policy alone, has been the rule
of my conduct for many years past; and when I say
that I have saved my family by it, I believe time will
show that I am within the truth. I hope you don’t let
your passions outrun your policy, as so many young
men are apt to do. Better be poor and politic, than
rich and headstrong : that’s the opinion of an old man.
However, I was going to say that it was purely from
policy that I allowed a friendship to develop b^een
my daughter and Miss Power, and now events are
proving the wisdom of my course. Straws show how
the wind blows, and there are little signs that my son
Captain De Stancy will return to Stancy Castle by the

317

A LAODICEAN

fortunate step of marrying its owner. I say nothing to
either of them, and they say nothing to me; but my
wisdom lies in doing nothing to hinder such a con-
summation, despite inherited prejudices.’

Somerset had quite time enough to rein himself in
during the old gentleman’s locution, and the voice in
which he answered was so cold and reckless that it did
not seem his own : ‘ But how will they live happily
together when she is a Dissenter, and a Radical, and
a New-light, and a Neo-Greek, and a person of red
blood ; while Captain De Stancy is the reverse of them
all!’

‘I anticipate no difficulty on that score,’ said the
baronet. ‘My son’s star lies in that direction, and,
like the Magi, he is following it without trifling with his
opportunity. You have skill in architecture, therefore
you follow it. My son has skill in gallanti|^and now
he is about to exercise it profitably.’ ^

‘ May nobody wish him more harm in that exercise
than I do I ’ said Somerset fervently.

^ A stagnant moodiness of several hours which followed
his visit to Myrtle Villa resulted in a resolve to journey
over to Paula the very next day. He now felt perfectly
convinced that the inviting - of Captain De Stancy to
visit them at Nice was a second stage in the scheme
of Paula’s uncle, the premature announcement of her
marriage having been the first. The roundness and
neatness of the whole plan could not fail to recommend
it to the mind which delighted in putting involved
things straight, and such a ||find Abner Power’s seemed
to be. In fact, the felicity, in a politic sense, of pairing
the captain with the heiress furnished no little excuse
for manoeuvring to bring it about, so long as that
manoeuvring fell short of unfairness, which -Mr. Power’s
could scarcely be said to do. ^

The next ^y was spent in furnishing the builders
with such instructions as they might require for a
* 31B

SOMERSET* DARE. ^iRD DE STANCY

coming week or ten days, and in dropping a short
note to Paula ; ending as follows : —

* 1 am coming to see you. Possibly you will refuse me an inter-
view. Nevermind, I air coming. — Yours, G. Somerset.’

The morning after that he was up and away. Between
him and Paula stretched nine hundred miles by the line
of journey that he found it necessary to adopt, namely,
the way of London, in order to inform his father of his
movements and to make one or two business calls.
The afternoon was passed in attending to these matters,
the night in speeding onward, and by the time that
nine o’clock sounded next morning through the sunless
and leaden air of the English Channel coasts, he had
reduced the number of miles on his list by two hundred,
dnd cut off^e sea from the impediments between him
and Paula.

On awakening from a fitful sleep in the grey dawn of
the morning following he looked out upon Lyons, quiet
enough now, the citizens unaroused to the daily round
of bread-winning, and enveloped in a haze of fog.

Six hundred and fifty miles of his journey had been
got over; there still intervened two hundred and fifty
between him and the end of suspense. When he thought
of that he was disinclined to pause ; and pressed on by
the same train, which set him down at Marseilles at
mid-day.

Here he considered. By going on to Nice that
afternoon he would arrive aUoo late an hour to call
upon her the same evening: it would therefore be
advisable to sleep in Marseilles and proceed the next
morning to his journey’s end, so as to meet her in a
brighter condition than he could boast of to-day. This
he accordingly did, and leaving Marseilles the next
morning about eight, found himself at Nice early in the
afternoon.

3*9

A LAODICEAN

Now that he was actually at the centre of his gravita-
tion he seemed even further away from a feasible meeting
with her than in England. While afar off, his presence
at Nice had appeared to be the one thing needful for
the solution of his trouble, but the very house fronts
seemed now to ask him what right he had there. Un-
luckily, in writing from England, he had not allowed her
time to reply before his departure, so that he did not
know what difficulties might lie in the way of her seeing
him privately. Before deciding what to do, he walked
down the Avenue de la Gare to the promenade between
the shore and the Jardin Public, and sat down to think.

The hotel which she had given him as her address
looked right out upon him and the sea beyond, and he
rested there with the pleasing hope that her eyes might
glance from a window and discover his form. Every-
thing in the scene was sunny and gay. behind him in
the gardens a band was playing; before Ihim was the
sea, the Great sea, the historical and original Mediter-
ranean ; the sea of innumerable characters in history and
legend that arranged themselves before him in a long
frieze of memories so diverse as to include both -^neas
and St. Paul.

Northern eyes are not prepared on a sudden for the
impact of such images of warmth and colour as meet
them southward, or for the vigorous light that falls from
the sky of this favoured shore. In any other circum-
stances the transparency and serenity of the air, the
perfume of the sea, the radiant houses, the palms and
flowers, would have actedjiupon Somerset as an enchant-
ment, and wrapped him in a reverie ; but at present he
only saw and felt these things as through a thick glass
which kept out half their atmosphere.

At last he made up his mind. He would take up
his quarters at her hotel, 'and catch echoes of her and
her people^ to learn somehow if their attitude towards
him as a lover were actually hostile, before formally
320

SOMERSET. DARE, AND DE STANCY

encountering them. Under this crystalline light, full of
gaieties, sentiment, languor, seductiveness, and ready-
made romance, the memory of a solitary unimportant
man in the lugubrious North might have faded from her
mind. He was only her hired designer. He was an
artist ; but he had been engaged by her, and was not a
volunteer ; and she did not as yet know that he meant
to accept no return for his labours but the pleasure of
presenting them to her as a love-offering.

So off he went at once towards the imposing building
whither his letters had preceded him. Owing to a press
of visitors there was a moment’s delay before he could
be attended to at the bureau, and he turned to the large
staircase that confronted him, momentarily hoping that
her figure might descend. Her skirts must mdeed have
brushed the carpeting of those steps scores of times.
He engaged his room, ordered his luggage to be sent
for, and finally inquired for the party he sought

‘ They left Nice yesterday, monsieur,* replied madame.

Was she quite sure, Somerset asked her ?

Yes, she was quite sure. Two of the hotel carriages
had driven them to the station.

Di 1 she know where they had gone to ?

This and other inquiries resulted in the information
that they had gone to the hotel at Monte Carlo ; that
how long they were going to stay there, and whether
they were coming back again, was not known. His
final question whether Miss Power had received a letter
from Engknd which must have arrived the day previous
was ansvroed in the affirmative.

Somerset’s first and sudden resolve was to follow on
after them to the hotel named ; but he finally decided
to make his immediate visit to Monte Carlo only a
cautious reconnoitre, returning to Nice to sleep.

Accordingly, after an early dinner, he again set forth
through the broad Avenue de la Gare, and ^ hour on
the coast railway brought him to the beautiful and

321 X

A LAODICEAN

sinister little spot to which the Power and De Stancy
party had strayed in common with the rest of the
Mvolous throng.

He assumed that their visit thither would be chiefly
one of curiosity, and theretoie not prolonged. This
proved to be the case in even greater measure than ho
had anticipated. On inquiry at the hotel lie learnt that
they had stayed only one night, leaving a short time
before his arrival, though it was believed ’that some of
the party were still in the town.

In a state of indecision Somerset strolled into the
gardens of the Casino, and looked out upon the sea.
There it still lay, calm yet lively ; of an unmixed blue,
yet variegated ; hushed, but articulate even to melodious-
ness. Everything about and around this coast appeared
indeed jaunty, tuneful, and at ease, reciprocating with
heartiness the rays of the splendid sun; everything,
except himself. The palms and flowers on the terraces
before him were undisturbed by a single cold breath.
The marble work of parapets and steps was unsplintered
by frosts. The whole was like a conservatory with the
sky for its dome.

For want of other occupation he went round towards
the public entrance to the Casino, an<} ascended the
great staircase into the pillared hall. It was possible,
after all, that upon leaving the hotel and sending on
their luggage they bad taken another turn through the
rooms, to follow by a later train. With more than
curiosity he scanned first the reading-rooms, only how-
ever to see not a face that he knew. He then crossed
the vestibule to the gaming-tables.

SOMERSET. DAREf AND DE STANCY

IV

I^ERE he was confronted by a heated phantasmagoria
of tainted splendour and a high pressure of suspense
that seemed to make the air quiver. A low whisper
of conversation prevailed, which might probably have
been not wrongly defined as the lowest note of social
harmony.

The people gathered at this negative pole of industry
had come from all civilized countries; their tongues
were familiar with many forms of utterance, that of each
racial group or type being unintelligible in its subtler
variations, if not entirely, to the rest. But the language
of mtum and tuum they collectively comprehended with-
out translation. In a half-charmed spell-bound state
they had congregated in 'knots, standing, or sitting in
hollow circles round the notorious oval tables marked
with figures and lines. The eyes of all these sets of
people were watching the Roulette. Somerset went
from table to table, looking among the loungers rather
than among the regular players, for feces, or at least for
one face, which did not meet his gaze.

The suggestive charm which the centuries-old imper-
sonality Gaming, rather than games and gamesters, had
for Somerset, led him to loiter on even when hU hope
of meeting any of the Power and De StanCy party had
vanished. As a non-participant in its profits and losses,
3*3

A LAODICEAN

fevers and frenzies, it had that stage effect upon his
imagination which is usually exercised over those who
behold Chance presented to them with spectacular
piquancy without advancing far enough in its acquaint-
ance to suffer from its ghastly repnsals and impish
tricks. He beheld a hundred diametrically opposed
wishes issuing from the murky intelligences around a
table, and spreading down across each other upon the
figured diagram in their midst, each to its own number.
It was a network of hopes ; which at the announcement,
‘Sept, Rouge, Impair, et Manque,’ disappeared like
magic gossamer, to be replaced in a moment by new.
That all the people there, including himself, could be
interested in what to the eye of perfect reason was a
somewhat monotonous thing — the property of numbers
to recur at certain longer or shorter intervals in a
machine containing them — in other words, the blind
groping after fractions of a result the whole of which
was well known — was one testimony among many of the
powerlessness of logic when confronted with imagination.

At this juncture our lounger discerned at one of the
tables about the last person in the world he could have
wished to encounter there. It was Dare, whom he had
supposed to be a thousand miles off, hanging about the
purlieus of Markton.

Dare was seated beside a table in an attitude of
application which seemed to imply that he had come
early and engaged in this pursuit in a systematic manner.
Somerset had never witnessed Dare and De Stancy to-
gether, neither had he heard of any engagement of Dare
by the travelling party as artist, courier, or otherwise ;
and yet it crossed his mind that Dare might have had
something to do with them, or at least have seen them.
This possibility was enough to overmaster Somerset’s
reluctance to speak to the young man, and he did so as
soon as an opportunity occurred.

Dare’s face was as rigid and dry as if it had l)een

324

SOMERSET, DARE, AND DE STANCY

encrusted with plaster, and he was like one turned into
a computing machine wliich no longer had the power of
feeling. He recognized Somerset as indifferently as if
he had met him in the ward of Stancy Castle, and re-
plying to his remarks by a word or two, concentrated on
the game anew.

‘ Are you here alone ? * said Somerset presently.

‘ Quite alone.* There was a silence, tiU Dare added,

‘ But I have seen some friends of yours.* He again be-
came absorbed in the events of the table. Somerset
retreated a few steps, and pondered the question whether
Dare could know where they had gone. He disliked to
l)e beholden to Dare for information, but he would give
a great deal to know. While pausing he watched Dare’s
play. He staked only five-franc pieces, but it was done
with an assiduity worthy of larger coin. At every half-
minute or so he placed his money on a certain spot, and
as regularly had the mortification of seeing it swept away
by the croupier’s rake. After a while he varied his pro-
cedure. He risked his money, which from the look of*
his face seemed rather to have dwindled than increased,
less recklessly against long odds than before. Leaving
off backing numbers m plein, he laid his venture ^
cheval; then tried it upon the dozens ; then upon two
numbers j then upon a square ; and, apparently getting
nearer and nearer defeat, at last upon the simple chances
of even or odd, over or under, red or black. Yet with
a few fluctuations in his favour fortune bore steadily
against him, till he could breast her blows no longer.
He rose from the table and came towards Somerset, and
they both moved on together into the entrance-halk

Dare was at that moment the Victim of an over,
powering mania for more money. His presence in the
South of Europe had its origin, as may be guessed,
in Captain De Stancy’s journey in "the same dkection,
whom he had followed, and troubled with persistent
request for more; funds, carefully keeping out of sight ot
3*5

A LAODICEAN

Paula and the rest. His dream of involving Paula in
the De Stancy pedigree knew no abatement. But
Somerset had lighted upon him at an instant when
that idea, though not displaced, was overwhelmed a
rage for play. In hope of being able to continue it by
Somerset’s aid he was prepared to do almost anything
to please the architect.

‘ You asked me,’ said Dare, stroking his impassive
brow, ‘ if I had seen anything of the Powers. I have
seen them ; and if 1 can be of any use to you in giving
information about them I shall only be too glad.’

* What information can you give ? ’

* I can tell you where they are gone to.’

‘Where?’

‘ To the Grand Hotel, Genoa. They went on there
this afternoon.’

* Whom do you refer to by they ? ’

‘ Mrs. Goodman, Mr. Power, ^liss Power, Miss De
Stancy, and the worthy captain. He leaves them to-
morrow: he comes back here for a day on his way to
England.’

Somerset was silent. Dare continued : ‘ Now I have
done you a favour, will you do me one in^return ? ’

Somerset looked towards the gaming^’ooms, and
said dubiously, ‘ Well ? ’

‘ Lend me two hundred francs.’

‘ Yes,’ said Somerset ; ‘ but on one condition : that
I don’t give them to you till you are inside the hotel
you are staying at.’

‘That can’t be; it’s at Nice,’

‘ Well I am gete back to Nice, and I’ll lend you
the mon^ the inJPt we get there.’

‘But I want it here, now, instantly!’ cried Dare;
and for the first ^inie there was a wiry unreasonableness
in his voice fortified his companion more firmly
than ever in -his determination to lend the young man
no money whfist he remained inside thst building*

3s6

SOMERSET, DARS. AND DE STANCY

‘You* want it to throw it away. I don’t approve of
it ; so come with me.’ '

‘But,’ said Dare, ‘I arrived here with a hundred
napoleons and more, expressly to work out my theory
of chances and recurrences, which is sound; 1 have
studied it hundreds of times by the help of this.’ He
partially drew from his pocket the little volume that we
have before seen in his hands. ‘ If I only persevere in
my system, the certainty that I must win is almost
mathematical. 1 have staked and lost two hundred
and thirty-three times. Allowing out of that one chance
in every thirty-six, which is the average of zero being
marked, and two hundred and four times for the backers
of the other numbers, I have the mathematical expecta-
tion of six times at least, which would nearly recoup me.
And shall I, then, sacrihee that vast foundation of waste
chances that I have laid down, and paid for, merely for
want of a little ready money?’

‘You might persevere for a twelvemonth, and still
not get the better of your reverses. Time tells in
favour of the bank. Just imagine for the sake of argu-
ment that all the people who have ever placed a stake
upon a certain number to be one person playing con-
tinuously. Has that imaginary person won? The
existence of the bank is a sufficient answer.’

‘ But a particular player has the option of leaving off
at any point favourable to himself, which the bank has
not ; and there’s my opportunity.’

‘Which from your mood you will be sure not to
take advantage of.’

‘ 1 shall go on playing,’ said Dare^ggedly.

‘ Not with my money.’ IP

* Very well; we won’t part as enemies,’ replied Dare,
with the flawless politeness of a man whose speech has
no longer any kinship with his fedings. ‘Shall we
share a bottle of wine ? You will not ? Well, I hope
your luck with ypur lady will be more magnificent than
3*7

A LAODICEAN

mine has been here; but — mind Captain De Stancyl
he*s a fearful wildfowl for you.’

<He’s a harmless, inoffensive soldier, as far as I
know. If he is not — let him be what he may for me.*

‘ And do his worst to cut you out, I suppose ? *

*Ay — if you will.* Somerset, much against his
judgment, was being stimulated by these pricks into
words of irritation. ‘ Captain De Stancy might, I think,
be better employed than in dangling at the heels of a
lady who can well dispense with his company. And
you might be better employed than in wasting your
wages here.*

‘ Wages — a fit word for my money. May I ask you
at what stage in the appearance of a man whose way of
existence is unknown, his money ceases to be called
wages and begins to be called means ? ’

Somerset turned and left him without replying, Dare
following his receding figure with a look of ripe resent-
ment, not less likely to vent itself in mischief from the
want of moral ballast in him who emitted it. He then
fixed a nettled and unsatisfied gaze upon the gaming-
rooms, and in another minute or two left the Casino
also.

Dare and Somerset met no more that day. The
latter returned to Nice by the evening train and went
straight to the hotel. He now thanked his fortune that
he had not precipitately given up his room there, for a
telegram from Paula awaited him. His hand almost
trembled as he opened it, to read the following few short
words, dated from the Grand Hotel, Genoa : —

* Letter received. Am glad to hear of your journey. We are
not returning to Nice, but stay here a week. I direct this at a
venture.'

This tantalizihg message — the first breaking of her
recent silence — was saucy, almost cruel, in its dry
frigidity. It led him to give up his idea of following
328

SOMERSET, DARE. AND DE STANCY

at once to Genoa. That was what she obviously ex«
pected him to do, and it was possiUe that his non-
arrival might draw a letter or message from her of a
sweeter composition than this. That would at least be
the effect of his tardiness if she cared in the least for
him; if she did not he could bear the worst. The
argument was good enough as far as it went, but, like
many more, failed from the narrowness of its premises,
the contingent intervention of Dare being entirely un-
dreamt of. It was altogether a fatal miscalculation,
which cost him dear.

Passing by the telegraph-office in the Rue Pont-Neuf
at an early hour the next morning he saw Dare coming
out from the door. It was Somerset’s momentary im-
pulse to thank Dare for the information given as to
Paula’s whereabouts, information which had now proved
true. But Dare did not seem to appreciate his friend-
liness, and after a few words of studied civility the young
man moved on,

And well he might. Five minutes Ijcfore that time
he had thrown open a gulf of treachery between himself
and the architect which nothing in life could ever close.
Before leaving the telegraph-office Dare had despatched
the following message to Paula direct, as a set-ofi
against what he called Somerset’s ingratitude for valu-
able information, though it was really the fruit of many
passions, motives, and desires : —

• (j Somerset, Nice, to Miss Power, Grand Hotel, Genoa.

‘ Have lost all at Monte Carlo. Have learnt that C aptain D. S.
returj.', here to-monow Please send me one hundred pounds by
him, ind save me from disgrace. Will await him at eleven o’clock
and four, on the Pont-Neuf/

A LAODICEAN

V

Five hours after the despatch of that telegram Captain
De Stancy was rattling along the coast railway of the
Riviera from Genoa to Nice. He was returning to
England by way of Marseilles ; but before turning north-
wards he had engaged to perform on Miss Power’s
account a peculiar and somewhat disagreeable duty.
This was to place in Somerset’s hands a hundred apd
twenty-hve napoleons which had been demanded from
her by a message in Somerset’s name. The money was
in his pocket — all in gold, in a canvas bag, tied up by
Paula’s own hands, which he had observed to tremble
as she tied it.

As he leaned in the corner of the carriage he was
thinking over the events of the morning which had
culminated in that liberal response. At ten o’clock,
before he had gone out from the hotel where he had
taken up his quarters, which was not the same as the
one patronized by Paula and her friends, he had been
summoned to her presence in a manner so unexpected
as to imply that something serious was in question.
On entering her room he had been struck by the
absence of that saucy independence usually apparent
in her bearing towards him, notwithstanding the per-
sistency with which he had hovered near her for the
previous month, and gradually, by the position of his

330

SOMERSET. DARE, AND DE STANCY

sister, and the favour of Paula’s uncle in intercepting
one of Somerset’s letters and several of his telegram,
established himself as an intimate member ai the
travelling party. His entry, however, this time as
always, had had the effect of a tonic, and it was quite
with her customary self-possession that she had told
him of the object of her message.

‘You think of returning to Nice this afternoon?’
she inquired.

De Stance informed her that such was his intention,
and asked if he could do anything for her there.

Then, he remembered, she had hesitated. ‘ I have
received a telegram,’ she said at length; and so she
allowed to escape her bit by bit the information that
her architect, whose name she seemed reluctant to utter,
had travelled from England to Nice that week, partly
to consult her, partly for a holiday trip ; that he had
gone on to Monte Carlo, had there lost his money and
got into difficulties, and had appealed to her to help
him out of them by the immediate advance of some
ready cash. It was a sad case, an unexpected case,
she murmured, with her eyes fixed on the window.
Indeed she could not comprehend it.

To De Stancy there appeared nothing so very extra-
ordinary in Somerset’s apparent fiasco, except in so far
as that he should have applied to Paula for relief from
his distresses instead of elsewhere. It was a self-humilia-
tion which a lover would have avoided at all costs, he
thought. Yet after a momentary reflection on his
theory of Somerset’s character, it seemed sufficiently
^natural that he should lean persistently on Paula, if
only \vith a view of keeping himself linked to her
memory, without thinking too profoundly of his own
dignity. That the esteem in which she had held
Somerset up to that hour suffered a tremendous blow
by his apparent scrape was clearly visible in her,
reticent as she was; and De Stancy, while pitying

S3X

A LAODICEAN

Somerset, thanked him in his mind for having gratui-
tously given a rival an advantage which that rival’s
attentions had never been able to gain of themselves.

After a little further conversation she had said:

< Since you are to be my messenger, 1 must tell you that
1 have decided to send the hundred pounds asked for,
and you will please to deliver them into no hands but
his own.* A curious little blush crept over her sobered
face — perhaps it was a blush of shame at the conduct of
the young man in whom she had of late been suspici-
ously interested — ^as she added, ‘He will be on the
Pont-Neuf at four this afternoon and again at eleven to-
morrow. Can you meet him there ? *

‘ Certainly,* De Stancy replied.

She then asked him, rather anxiously, how he could
account for Mr. Somerset knowing that he. Captain De
Stancy, was about to return to Nice ?

De Stancy informed her that he left word at the
hotel of his intention to return, which was quite true ;
moreover, there did not luik in his mind at the moment
of speaking the faintest suspicion that Somerset had
seen Dare.

She then tied the bag and handed it to him, leaving
him with a serene and impenetrable bfiaiing, which he
hoped for his own sake meant an acquired indifference
to Somerset and his fortunes. Her sending the archi-
tect a sum of money which she could easily spare might
be set down to natural generosity towards a man with
whom she was artistically co-operating for the improve-
ment of her home.

She came back to him again for a moment. ‘ Could
you possibly get there before four this afternoon ? * she
asked, and he informed her that he could just do so by
leaving almost at once, which he was very willing to do,
though by so forestalling his time he would lose the pro-
jected morning with her and the rest at the Palazzo
Doria.

3Aa

SOMERSET, DARE. AND DE STANCY

* I may tell you that I shall not go to the Palazzo
Doria either, if it is any consolation to you to know it,*
was her reply. * 1 shall sit indoors and think of you on
your journey.*

The answer admitted of two translations, and con-
jectures thereon filled the gallant soldier*s mind during
the greater part of the journey. He arrived at the hotel
they had all stayed at in succession about six hours after
Somerset had left it for a little excursion to San Remo
and its neighbourhood, as a means of passing a few
days till Paula should write again to inquire why he
had not come on De Stancy saw no one he knew, and
in obedience to Paula's commands he promptly set off
on foot for the Pont-Neuf.

Though opposed to the architect as a lover, De Stancy
felt for him as a poor devil in need of money, having
had experiences of that sort himself, and he was really
anxious that the needful supply entrusted to him should
reach Somerset's hands. He was on the bridge five
minutes before the hour, and when the clock struck a
hand was laid on his shoulder ; turning he beheld Dare.

Knowing that the youth was loitering somewhere along
the coast, for they had frequently met together on De
Stancy's previous visit, the latter merely said, ‘Don't
bother me for the present, Willy, I have an engagement.
You can see me at the hotel this evening.'

‘ When you have given me the hundred pounds I will
fly like a rocket, captain,* said the young gentleman.

‘ I keep the appointment instead of the other man.*

De Stancy looked hard at him. ‘How — do you
know r^bout this ? * he asked breathlessly.

‘ I have seen him.*

De Stancy took the young man by the two shoulders
and gazed into his eyes. The scrutiny seemed not alto-
gether to remove the suspicion which had suddenly
started up in his mind. ‘ My soul,' he said, dropping
his arms, ‘ can this be true ? *

333

A LAODICEAN

‘What?'

‘ You know.’

Dare shrugged his shoulders; ‘Are you going to
hand over the money or no ? ’ he said.

‘I am going to make inquiries/ said De Stancy,
walking away with a vehement tread.

‘Captain, you are without natural affection/ said
Dare, walking by his side, in a tone which showed his
fear that he had over-estimated that emotion. ‘See
what I have done for you. You have been my constant
care and anxiety for 1 can’t tell how long. I have
stayed awake at night thinking how I might best give
you a good start in the world by arranging this judicious
marriage, when you have been sleeping as sound as a
top with no cares upon your mind at all, and now I
have got into a scrape — as the most thoughtful of us
may sometimes — ^you go to make inquiries.’

‘1 have promised the lady to whom this money
belongs — whose generosity has been shamefully abused
in some way — that I will deliver it into no hands but
those of one man, and he has not yet appeared. I
therefore go to find him.'

Dare laid his hand upon De Stancy’s arm. ‘ Captain,
we are both warm, and punctilious on points of honour ;
this will come to a split between us if we don’t mind.
So, not* to bring matters to a crisis, lend me ten pounds
here to enable me to get home, and I’ll disappear.'

In a state bordering on distraction, eager to get the
young man out of his sight before worse revelations
should rise up between them, De Stancy without
pausing in his walk gave him the sum demanded. He
soon reached the post-office, where he inquired if a Mr.
Somerset had left any directions for forwarding letters.

It was just^what Somerset had done. De Stancy
was told that Mr. Somerset had commanded that any
letters should be sent on to him at the Hdtel Victoria,
San Remo.

334

SOMERSET, DARE, AND DE STANCY

It was now evident that the scheme of getting money
from Paula was either of Dare’s invention, or that
Somerset, ashamed of his first impulse,' had abandoned
it as speedily as it had been formed. De Stancy turned
and went out. Dare, in keeping with his promise, had
vanished. Captain De Stancy resolved to do nothing
in the case till further events should enlighten him,
beyond sending a line to Miss Power to inform her
that Somerset had not appeared, and that he therefore
retained the money for further instructions.

BOOK THE FIFTH

DE STANCY AND PAULA

DE STANCY AND PAULA

BOOK THE FIFTH
DE STANCY AND PAULA

I

Miss power was reclining on a red velvet couch
in the bedroom of an old-fashioned red hotel at Strass-
burg, and her friend Miss De Stancy was sitting by a
window of the same apartment. They were both rather
wearied by a long journey of the previous day. The
hotel overlooked the large open Kleber Platz, erect in
the midst of which the bronze statue of General Kleber
received the rays of a warm sun that was powerless to
brighten him. The whole square, with its people and
vehicles going to and fro as if they had plenty of time,
was visible to Charlotte in her chair ; but Paula from
her horizontal position could see nothing below the level
of the many dormered house-tops on the opposite side
of the Platz. After watching this upper storey of the
city lor some time in silence, she asked Charlotte to
hand her a binocular l5dng on the table, through which
instrument she quietly regarded the distant roofs.

‘ What strange and philosophical creatures storks
are/ she said. They give a taciturn, ghostly character
to the whole town.'

The birds were crossing and recrossing the field of
the glass in their flight hither and thither between
339

A LAODICEAN

the Strassbuig chimneys, their sad grey forms sharply
outlined against the sky, and their skinny legs showing
beneath like the limbs of dead martyrs in Crivelli’s
emaciated imaginings. The indifference of these birds
to all that was going on beneath them impressed her : to
harmonize with their solemn and silent movements the
houses beneath should have been deserted, and grass
growing in the streets.

Behind the long roofs thus visible to Paula over the
window-sill, with their tiers of dormer-windows, rose the
cathedral spire in airy openwork, forming the highest
object in the scene ; it suggested something which for a
long time she appeared unwilling to utter ; but natural
instinct had its way.

‘A place like this,’ she said, * where he can study
Gothic architecture, would, I should have thought, be a
spot more congenial to him than Monaco.’

The person referred to was the misrepresented
Somerset, whom the two had been gingerly discussing
from time to time, allowing any casual subject, such as
that of the storks, to interrupt the personal one at every
two or three sentences.

‘ It would be more like him to be here,’ replied Miss
De Stancy, trusting her tongue with only the barest
generalities on this matter.

Somerset was again dismissed for the stork topic,
but Paula could not let him alone; and she presently
resumed, as if an irresistible fascination compelled what
judgment had forbidden: *The strongest-minded per-
sons are sometimes caught unaware^ at that place, if
they once think they will retrieve their first losses ; and
I am not aware that he is particularly strong-minded.’

For a moment Charlotte looked at her with a mixed
expression, in which .there was deprecation that a woman
with any feelings should criticize Somerset so frigidly,
and relief that it was Paula who did so. For, notwith-
standing her assumption that Somerset could never be
340 ,

DE STANCY AND PAULA

anything more to her than he was already, Charlotte’s
heart would occasionally step down and trouble her
views so expressed.

\Vhether looking through a glass at distant objects
enabled Paula to bottle up her affection for the absent
one, or whether her friend Charlotte had so little per-
sonality in Paula’s regard that she could commune with
her as with a lay figure, it was certain that she evinced
remarkable ease in spewing of Somerset, resuming her
words about him in the tone of one to whom he was at
most an ordinary professional adviser. ‘It would be
very awkward for the works at the castle if he has got
into a scrape. I suppose the builders were well posted
up with instructions before he left : but he ought cer-
tainly to return soon. Why did he leave England at
all just now ? ’

‘ Perhaps it was to see you.*

‘ He should have waited ; it would not have been so
dreadfully long to May or June. Charlotte, how can a
man who does such a hare-brained thing as this be
deemed trustworthy in an important work like that of
rebuilding Stancy Castle ? *

There was such stress in the inquiry that, whatever
factitiousness had gone before, Charlotte perceived Paula
to be at last speaking her mind ; and it seemed as if
Somerset must have considerably lost ground in her
opinion, or she would not have criticized him thus.

‘My brother will tell us full particulars when he
comes: perhaps it is not at all as we suppose,’ said
Charlotte. She strained her eyes across the Plata and
added, ‘ He ought to have been here before this time.’

While they waited and talked, Paula still observing
the storks, the hotel omnibus came round the comer
from the station. ‘ I believe he has arrived,’ resumed
Miss De Stancy ; ‘ 1 see something that looks like his
portmanMu on the top of the omnibus. . . . Yes ; it
IS his ba^^ge. I’ll run down to him.'

341

A LAODICEAN

De Stancy had obtained six weeks’ additional leave
on account of his health, which had somewhat suffered
in India. The first use he made of his extra time was
in hastening back to meet the travelling ladies here at
Strassburg. Mr. Power and Mrs. Goodman were also
at the hotel, and when Charlotte got downstairs, the
former was welcoming De Stancy at the door.

Paula had not seen him since he set out from Genoa
for Nice, commissioned by her to deliver the hundred
pounds to Somerset. His note, stating that he had
failed to meet Somerset, contained no details, and she
guessed that he would soon appear before her now to
answer any question about that peculiar errand.

Her anticipations were justified by the event; she
had no sooner gone into the next sitting-room than
Charlotte De Stancy appeared and asked if her brother
might come up. The closest observer would have been
in doubt whether Paula’s ready reply in the affirmative
was prompted by personal consideration for De Stancy,
or by a hope to hear more of his mission to Nice. As
soon as she had welcomed him she reverted at once to
the subject.

‘ Yes, as I told you, he was not at the place of meet-
ing,’ De Stancy replied. And taking from his pocket
the bag of ready money he placed it intact upon the
table.

De Stancy did this with a hand that shook somewhat
more than a long railway journey was adequate to
account for ; and in truth it was the vision of Dare’s
position which agitated the unhappy captain : for had
that young man, as De Stancy feared, been tampering
with Somerset’s name, his fate now trembled in the
balance; Paula would unquestionably and naturally
invoke the aid of the law against him if she discovered
such an imposition.

‘Were you punctual to the time mentioned?’ she
asked curiously.

342

DE STANCY AND* PAULA

De Stancy replied in the affirmative.

‘ Did you wait long ? * she continued.

‘ Not very long/ he answered, his instinct to screen
the possibly guilty one confining him to guarded state
ments, while still adhering to the literal truth.

‘ Why was that ? *

* Somebody came and told me that he would not
appear.’

‘Who?’

‘A young man who has been acting as his clerk.
His name is Dare. He informed me that Mr. Somerset
could not keep the appointment.’

‘Why?’

‘ He had gone on to San Remo.*

‘ Has he been travelling with Mr. Somerset ? ’

‘ He had been with him. I'hey know each other
very well. But as you commissioned me to deliver the
money into no hands but Mr. Somcrset*s, I adhered
strictly to your instructions.*

‘ But perhaps my instructions were not wise. Should
it in your opinion have been sent by this young man ?
Was he commissioned to ask you for it ? ’

De Stancy murmured that Dare was not commissioned
to ask for it ; that upon the whole he deemed her in-
structions wisej and was still of opinion that the best
thing had been done.

Although De Stancy was distracted between his de-
sire to preserve Dare from the consequences of folly,
and a gentlemanly wish to keep as close to the truth
as was compatible with that condition, his answers had
not appeared to Paula to be particularly evasive, the
conjuncture being one in which a handsome heiress’s
shrewdness was prone to overleap itself by setting down
embarrassment on the part of the man she questioned
to a mere lover’s difficulty in steering between honour
and rivalry.

She put but one other question. ‘ Did it appear as
343

A* LAODICEAN

if he, Mr. Somerset, after telegraphing, had — had — re-
gretted doing so, and evaded the result by not keeping
the appointment ? *

‘That’s just how it appears.’ The words, which
saved Dare from ignominy, cost De Stancy a good deal.
He was sorry for Somerset, sorry for himself, and very
sorry for Paula. But Dare was to De Stancy what
Somerset could never be : and ‘ for his kin that is near
unto him shall a man be defiled.’

After that interview Charlotte saw with warring
impulses that Somerset slowly diminished in Paula’s
estimate; slowly as the moon wanes, but as certainly.
Charlotte’s own love was of a clinging, uncritical sort,
and though the shadowy intelligence of Somerset’s
doings weighed down her soul with regret, it seemed
to make not the least difference in her affection for
him.

In the afternoon the whole party, including De
Stancy, drove about the streets. Here they looked at
the house in which Goethe had lived, and afterwards
entered the cathedral. Observing in the south transept
a crowd of people waiting patiently, they were reminded
that they unwittingly stood in the presence of the
popular clock-work of Schwilgu^. ^

Mr. Power and Mrs. Goodman cSaded that they
would wait with the rest of the idlers and see the puppets
perform at the striking. Charlotte also waited with
them ; but as it wanted eight minutes to the hour, and
as Paula had seen the show before, she moved on into
the nave.

Presently she found that De Stancy had followed,
lie did not come close dU she, seeing him stand silent,
said, * If it were for this cathedral, I should not like
the city at all ; ‘cmd I have even seen cathedrals I like
better. Luckily we are going on to Baden to-morrow.’

Your uncle has just told me. He has asked me to
keep you company.'

344

DE STANCY A*ND PAULA

‘Are you intending to?’ said Paula, probing the
base- moulding of a pier with her parasol.

‘I have nothing better to do, nor indeed half so
good,’ said De Stancy. ‘I am abroad for my health,
you know, and what’s like the Rhine and its neighbour-
hood in early summer, before the crowd comes ? It is
delightful to wander about there, or anywhere, like a
child, influenced by no fixed motive more than that of
keeping near some friend, or friends, including the one
wx* most admire in the world.’

‘ That sounds perilously like love-making.’

‘ ’Tis love indeed.’

‘Well, love is natural to men, I suppose,’ rejoined
the young lady. ‘But you must love within bounds;
or you will be enervated, and cease to be useful as a
heavy arm of the service.’

‘ My dear Miss Power, your didactic and respectable
rules won’t do for me. If you expect straws to stop
currents, you are sadly mistaken 1 But no — let matters
be : I am a happy contented mortal at present, say what
you will. . . . You don’t ask why? Perhaps you know.
It is because all I care for in the world is near me, and
that I shall never be more than a hundred yards from
her as long|| the present arrangement continues.’

*We aw^in a cathedral, remember. Captain De
Stancy, and should not keep up a secular conversation.’

‘ If I had never said worse in a cathedral than what
1 have said here, I should be content to meet my eternal
Judge without absolution. Your uncle asked me this
morning how I liked you.’

* Well, there was no harm in that.’

‘ How I like you I Harm, no ; but you should have
seen how silly I looked. Fancy the inadequacy of the
expression when my whole sense is absorbed by you.’

‘Men allow themselves to be made ridiculous by
their own feelings in an inconceivable way.’

‘True, I am a fool; but forgive me,’ he rejoined,
345

A LAODICEAN

observing her gaze, which wandered critically from roof
to clerestory, and then to the pillars, without once
lighting on him. ‘Don’t mind saying Yes. — You
look at this thing and that thing, but you never look
at me, though I stand here and see nothing but you.’

‘There, the clock is striking— and the cock crows.
Please go across to the transept and tell them to come
out this way.’

De Stancy went. When he had gone a few steps
he turned his head. She had at last ceased to study
the architecture, and was looking at him. Perhaps his
words had struck her, for it seemed at that moment
as if he read in her bright eyes a genuine interest in
him and his fortunes^

DE STANCY AND PAULA

II

N EXT day they went on to Baden. De Stancy was
beginning to cultivate the passion of love even more
as an escape from the gloomy relations of his life than
as matrimonial strategy. Paula’s juxtaposition had the
attribute of making him forget everything in his own
history. She was a magic alterative; and the most
foolish boyish shape into which he could throw his
feelings for her was in this respect to be aimed at as
the act of highest wisdom.

He supplemented the natural warmth of feeling that
she had wrought in him by every artifickil means in his
power, to make the distraction the more complete. He
had not known anything like this self-obscuration for
a dozen years, and when he conjectured that she might
really learn to love him he felt exalted in his own eyes
and purified from the dross of his former life. Such
uneasiness of conscience as arose when he suddenly
rememljered Dare, and the possibility that Somerset
was getting ousted unfairly, had its weight in depressing
him ; 1 )ut he was inclined to accept his fortune without
much question.

The journey to Baden, though short, was not with-
out incidents on which he could work out this curious
hobby of cultivating to superlative power an already
positive passion. Handing her in and out of the
347

A LAODICEAN

carriage, accidentally getting brushed by her clothes;
of all such as this he made available fuel. Paula,
though she might have guessed the general nature of
what was gping on, seemed unconscious of the refine-
ments he was trying to throw into it, and sometimes,
when in stepping into or from a railway carriage she
unavoidably put her hand upon his arm, the obvious
insignificance she attached to the action struck him with
misgiving.

One of the first things they did at Baden was lo
stroll into the l^'rink-hallc, where Paula sipped the water.
She was about to put down the glass, when De Stancy
quickly took it from her hands as though to make use
of it himself.

*0, if that is what you mean,’ she said mischiev-
ously, < you should have noticed the exact spot. It was
there.’ She put her finger on a particular portion of
its edge.

‘You ought not to act like that, unless you mean
something, Miss Power,’ he replied gravely.

‘ Tell me more plainly.*

‘ I mean, you should not do things which excite in
me the hope that you care something for me, unless you
really do.’

‘I put my finger on the edge and said it was
there.’

‘ Meaning, “ It was there my lips touched; let yours
do the same.” ’

‘The latter part I wholly deny,’ she answered, with
disregard, after which she went away, and kept be-
tween Charlotte and her aunt for the rest of the
afternoon.

Since the recei|)t of the telegram Paula had been
frequently silent > she frequently stayed in alone, and
sometimes she became quite gloomy — an altogether
unprecedented phase for her. This was the case on.
the morning after the incident in the Trink-halle. Not
348

DE STANCy AND PAULA

to intrude on her, Charlotte walked about the landings
of the sunny white hotel in which they had taken up
their quarters, went down into the court, and petted
the tortoises tliat were creeping about there among
the flowers and plants ; till at last, on going to
her friend, she caught her reading some old letters
of Somerset’s.

Paula made no secret of them, and Miss De Stancy
could see that more than half were written on blue
paper, with diagrams amid the writing: they were, in
fact, simply those sheets of his letters which related
to the rebuilding. Nevertheless, Charlotte fancied she
had caught Paula in a sentimental mood ; and doubtless
could Somerset have walked in at this moment instead
of Charlotte it might have fared well with him, so in-
sidiously do tender memories reassert themselves in
the face of outward mishaps.

They took a drive down the Lichtenthal road and
then into the forest, De Stancy and Abner Power riding
on horseback alongside. The sun streamed yellow be-
hind their backs as they wound up the long inclines,
lighting the red trunks, and even the blue-black foliage
itself. The summer had already made impression upon
that mass of uniform colour by tipping every twig with a
tiny sprout of virescent yellow ; while the minute sounds
which issued from the forest revealed that the apparently
still place was, becoming a perfect reservoir of insect
life.

Abner Power was quite sentimental that day. ‘In
such places as these,’ he said, as he rode alongside
Mrs. Goodman, ‘ nature’s powers in the multiplication
of one type strike me as much as the grandeur of the
mass.’

Mrs. Goodman a^eed with him, and Paula said, '
‘The foliage forms the roof of an interminable greeh
crypt, the pillars being the trunks, and the vault the
interlacing boughs.’

349

A LAODICEAN

‘ It is a fine place in a thunderstorm/ said De Stancy.

‘ I am not an enthusiast, but to see the lightning spring
hither and thither, like lazy-tongs, bristling, and striking,
and vanishing, is rather impressive.’

‘ It must be indeed,’ said Paula.

‘ And in the winter winds these pines sigh like ten
thousand spirits in trouble.’

‘ Indeed they must,’ said Paula.

‘At the same time I know a little fir-plantation
about a mile square, not fiir from Markton,’ said De
Stancy, ‘which is precisely like this in miniature, —
stems, colours, slopes, winds, and all. If we were to go
there any time with a highly magnifying pair of spec-
tacles it would look as fine as this — and save a deal
of travelling.’

‘ I know the place, and I agree with you,’ said
Paula.

‘You agree with me on all subjects but one,’ he
presently observed, in a voice not intended to reach
the others.

Paula looked at him, but was silent.

Onward and upward they went, the same pattern
and colour of tree repeating themselves endlessly, till
in a couple of hours they reached the castle hill which
was to be the end of their journey, and Beheld stretched
beneath them the valley of the Murg. They alighted
and entered the fortress.

* What did you mean by that look of kindness you
bestowed upon me just now, when I said you agreed
with me on all subjects but one?’ asked De Stancy
half humorously, as he held open a little door for her,
the others having gone ahead.

‘ I meant, I suppose, that I was much obliged to you
for not requiring agreement on that one subject,’ she
said, passing on\

‘ Not more than that ? ’ said De Stancy, as he
followed her. ‘But whenever I involuntarily express

$ 5 ^

DE STANCY AND PAULA

towards you sentiments that there can be no mistaking,
you seem truly compassionate.’

‘ If I seem so, I feel so.’

‘ If you mean no more than mere compassion, I
wish you would sliow- nothing at all, for your mistaken
kindness' is only preparing more misery for me than I
should have if let alone to suffer without mercy.’

‘I implore you to be quiet. Captain De Stancy!
Leave me, and look out of the window at the view here,
or at the pictures, or at the armour, or whatever it is we
are come to sec.’

‘Very well. But pray don’t extract amusement
from my harmless remarks. Such as they arc I
mean them.’

She stopped liim by changing the subject, for they
had entered an octagonal chamber on the first floor,
presumably full of pictures and curiosities; but the
shutters were closed, and only Stray beams of light
gleamed in to suggest what was there.

‘ Can’t somebody open the windows ? ’ said Paula.

‘The attendant is about to do it,’ said her uncle;
ar\d as he spoke the shutters to the east were flung
back, and one of the loveliest views in the forest dis-
closed itself outside.

Some of them stepped out upon the balcony. The
river lay along the bottom of the valley, irradiated with
a silver shine. Little rafts of pinew^ood floated on its
surface like tiny splinters, the men who steered them
not appearing larger than ants.

Paula stood on the balcony, looking for a few
minutes upon the sight, and then came into the
shadowy room, where De Stancy had remained. While
the rest were still outside she resumed : ‘ You must
not suppose that I shrink from the subject you so per-
sistently bring before me. I respect deep affection —
you know I do ; but for me to say that I have any
such for you, of the particular sort you only will be

351

A LAODICEAN

satisfied with, would be absurd. I don’t feel it, and
therefore there can be nothing between us. One would
think it would be better to feel kindly towards you than
to feel nothing at all. But if you object to that I’ll
try to feel nothing.’

don’t really object to your sympathy,’ said De
Stancy, rather struck by her seriousness. ‘ But it is
very saddening to think you can feel nothing more.’

‘It must be so, since I can feel no more,’ she
decisively replied, adding, as she stopped her serious-
ness : ‘ You must pray for strength to get over it.’

‘ One thing I shall never pray for ; to see you give
yourself to another man. But I suppose I shall witness
that some day.’

‘ You may,’ she gravely returned.

‘You have no doubt chosen him already,’ cried the
captain bitterly.

‘No, Captain De Stancy,’ she said shortly, a faint
involuntary blush coming into her face as she guessed
his allusion.

This, and a few glances round at the pictures and
curiosities, completed their survey of the castle.^ De
Stancy knew better than to trouble her further that
day with special remarks. During the return journey
he rode ahead with Mr. Power and she saw no more
of him.

She would have been astonished had she heard the
conversation of the two gentlemen as they wound gently
downwards through the trees.

‘As far as I am concerned,’ Captain De Stancy’s
companion was saying, ‘nothing wodd give me more
unfeigned delight than that you should persevere and
win her. But you must understand that I have no
authority over her — nothing more than the natural in-
fluence that arises ^from my being her father’s brother.’

‘ And for exercising that much, whatever it may be,
in my favour I thank you heartily,’ said De Stancy.

35 *

DE STANCY AND PAULA

* But I am coming to the conclusion that it is useless
to press her further. She is right 1 I am not the man
for her. I am too old, and too poor; and I must
put up as well as I can with her loss — drown her
image in old Falernian till I embark in Charon’s boat
for good ! — Really, if I had the industry I could write
some good Horatian verses on my inauspicious situa-
tion ! . . . Ah, well ; — in this way I affect levity over
my troubles ; but in plain truth my life will not be the
brightest without her.’

‘ Don’t be down-hearted ! you are too — too gentle-
manly, De Stancy, in this matter — you are too soon
put off — you should have a touch of the canvasser
about you in approaching her ; and not stick at things.
You have my hearty invitation to travel with us all the
way till we cross to England, and there will be heaps
of opportunities as we wander on. I’ll keep a slow
pace to give you time.’

‘You are very good, my friend! Well, I will try
again. 1 am full of doubt and indecision, mind, but
at present I feel that I will try again. There is, I
suppose, a slight possibility of something or other
turning up in my favour, if it is true that the un-
expected always happens — ^for I foresee no chance what-
ever. . . . Which way do we go when we leave here
to-morrow ? *

‘ To Carlsruhe, she says, if the rest of us have no
objection.’

‘Carlsruhe, then, let it be, with all my heart; or
anywhere.’

To Carlsruhe they went next day, after a night of
soft rain which brought up a warm steam from the
Schwarzwald valleys, and caused the young tufts and
grasses to swell visibly in a few hours. After the
Baden slopes the flat thoroughfares of ‘ Charles’s Rest ’
seemed somewhat uninteresting, though a busy fair
which was proceeding in the streets created a quaint and
3S3 z

A LAODICEAN

unexpected liveliness. On reaching the old-fashioned
inn in the Lange-Strasse that th^ had fixed on, the
women df the party betook themselves to thdr rooms,
and showed little inclination to see more of the world
that day than could be gleaned from the hotel
windows.

DE STANCY AND PAULA

III

While the malignant tongues had been playing
havoc with Somerset's fame in the ears of Paula and
her companion, the young man himself was proceeding
partly by rail, partly on foot, below and amid the olive-
clad hills, vineyards, carob groves, and lemon gardens
of the Mediterranean shores. Arrived at San Remo
he wrote to Nice to inquire for letters, and such as had
come were duly forwarded; but not one of them was
from Paula. This broke down his resolution to hold
off, and he hastened directly to Genoa, regretting that
he had not taken this step when he first heard that
she was there.

Something in the very aspect of the marble halls
of that city, which at any other time he would have
liked to linger over, whispered to him that the bird
had. flown; and inquiry confirmed the fancy. Never-
theless, the architectural beauties of the palace-bordered
street, looking as if mountains of marble must have
been levelled to supply the materials for constructing
it, detained him there two days: or rather a feat of
resolution, which he set himself to withstand the
diag-(^n of Paula’s influence, was operative for that
space of time.

At the end of it he moved onward. There was no
difficulty in discovering their trade northwards; and
,355

A LAdbiCEAN

feeling that he might as well return to England by the
Rhine route as by any other, he followed in the course
they had chosen, getting scent of them in Strassburg,
missing them at Baden by a day, and finally overtaking
them at Carlsruhe, which town he reached on the morn-
ing after the Power and De Stancy party had taken up
their quarters at the ancient inn above mentioned.

When Somerset was about to get out of the train
at this place, little dreaming what a meaning the word
Carlsruhe would have for him in subsequent years, he
was disagreeably surprised to see no other than Dare
stepping out of the adjoining carriage. A new brown
leather valise in one of his hands, a new umbrella in
the other, and a new suit of fashionable clothes on his
back, seemed to denote considerable improvement in
the young man’s fortunes. Somerset was so struck by
the circumstance of his being on this spot that he
almost missed his opportunity for alighting.

Dare meanwhile had moved on without seeing his
former employer, and Somerset resolved to take the
chance that offered, and let him go. There was some-
thing so mysterious in their common presence simul-
taneously at one place, five hundred miles from where
they had last met, that he exhausted conjecture on
whether Dare’s errand this way could have anything to
do with his own, or whether their juxtaposition a second
time was the result of pure accident. Greatly as he
would have liked to get this answered by a direct
question to Dare himself, he did not counteract his first
instinct, and remained unseen.

They went out in different directions, when Somerset
for the first time remembered that, in learning at Baden
that the party had flitted towards Carlsruhe, he had
taken no care to ascertain the name of the hotel they
were bound for. Carlsruhe was not a large place and
the point was immaterial, but the omission would neces-
sitate a little inquiry. To follow Dare on the chance
356

DE STANCY AND PAULA

of his having fixed upon the same quarters was a course
which did not commend itself. He resolved to get
some lunch before proceeding with his business — or
fatuity — of discovering the elusive lady, and drove off
to a neighbouring tavern, which did not happen to be,
as he hoped it might, the one chosen by those who had
preceded him.

Meanwhile Dare, previously master of their plans,
went straight to the house which sheltered them, and
on entering under the archway from the Lange-Strasse
was saved the trouble of inquiring for Captain De Stancy
by seeing him drinking bitters at a little table in the
court. Had Somerset chosen this inn for his quarters
instead of the one in the Market-Place which he actually
did choose, the three must inevitably have met here at
this moment, with some possibly striking dramatic re-
sults ; though what they would have been remains for
ever hidden in the darkness of the unfulfilled.

De Stancy jumped up from his chair, and went for-
ward to the new-comer, ‘ You are not long behind us,
then,* he said, with laconic disquietude. ‘I thought
you were going straight home ? *

‘ I was,* said Dare, ‘ but I have been blessed with
what I may call a small competency since I saw you
last. Of the two hundred francs you gave me I risked
fifty at the tables, and I have multiplied them, how
many times do you think ? More than four hundred
times.*

De Stancy immediately looked grave. ‘ I wish you
had lost them,* he said, with as much feeling as could
be shown in a place where strangers were hovering near.

‘ I'Jonsense, captain ! I have proceeded purely on a
calculation of chances ; and my calculations proved as
true as I expected, notwithstanding a little in-and-out
luck at first. Witness tliis as the result.* He smacked
his bag with his umbrella, and thr diink of money re-
sounded from within. * Just feel the weight of it I *

357

A LAODICEAN

* It is not necessary. I’ll take your word.’

* Shall I lend you five pounds ? ’

* God forbid ! As if that would repay me for what
you have cost me ! But come, let’s'get out of this place
to where we can talk more fireely.’ He put his hand
through the young man’s arm, and led him round the
corner of the hotel towards the Schloss-Platz.

* These runs of luck will be your ruin, as I have told
you before,’ continued Captain De Stancy. ‘ You will
be for repeating and repeating your experiments, and
will end by blowing your brains out, as wiser heads than
yours have done. I am glad you have come away, at
any rate. Why did you travel this way ? ’

‘Simply bemuse I could afford it, of course. — But
come, captain, something has ruffled you to-day. I
thought you did not look in the best temper the moment
I saw you. Every sip you took of your pick-up as you
sat there showed me something was wrong. Tell your
worry! ’

‘ Pooh — I can tell you in two words,’ said the cap-
tain satirically. ‘ Your arrangement for my wealth and
happiness — for 1 suppose you still claim it to be yours
— has fallen through. The lady has announced to-day
that she means to send for Somerset instantly. She is
coming to a personal explanation with him. So woe to
me — and in another sense, woe to you, as I have reason
to fear.’

‘ Send for him 1 ’ said Dare, with the stillness of com- ^
plete abstraction. ‘ Then he’ll come.’

‘Well,’ said De Stancy, looking him in the face.
‘And does it tnakO you feel you bad better be off?
How about that tdegram ? Did he ask you to send it,
or did he not?’

‘One minute ‘or I shall be up such a tree as nobody
ever saw the Ukd of/

•Then what did you 'come here for?’ burst out De
Stancy. ‘ ’Tis my bdief you are *no more than a—
3SS

DE STANCY AND PAULA

But I won’t call you names ; I’ll tell you quite plainly
that if there is anything wrong in that message to her
— which I believe there is — no, I can’t" believe, though
I fear it — ^you have the chance of appearing in drab
clothes at the eiqpense of the Government before the
year is out, and I of being eternally disgraced 1 ’

* No, captain, you won’t be disgraced, I am bad to
beat, I can tell you. And come the worst luck, I don’t
say a word.’

‘ But those letters pricked in your skin would say a
good deal, it strikes me.’

* What ! would they strip me ? — but it is not coming
to that. Look here, now. I’ll tell you the truth for
once; though you don’t believe me Capable of it. I
did concoct that telegram — and sent it; just as a
practical joke; and many a worse one has been only
laughed at by honest men and officers. I could show
you a bigger joke still — a joke of jokes — on the same
individual’

Dare as he spoke put his hand into his breast-pocket,
as if the said joke lay there ; but after a moment he with-
drew his hand empty, as he continued :

‘Having invented it I have done enough; I was
going to explain it to you, that you might carry it out.
But you are so serious, that I will leave it alone. My
second joke shall die with me.’

‘So much the better,’ said De Stancy. ‘I don’t
like your jokes, even though they are not directed
against myself. They express a kind of humour which
does not suit me.’

‘Vou may have reason to alter your mind,’ said
Dare carelessly. ‘Your success with your lady may
depend on it. The truth is, captain, we aristocrats
must not take too high a tone. Our days as an in-
dependent division of society, which holds aloof from
other sections, are past. This has been my argument
(in spite of my strong Norman feelings) ever since I
359

A LAODICEAN

broached the subject of your marrying this girl, who
represents both intellect and wealth — all, in fact, except
the historical prestige that you represent. And we
mustn’t flinch at things. The case is even more press-
ing than ordinary cases — owing to the odd fact that the
representative of the new blood who has come in our
way actually lives in your own old house, and owns
your own old lands. The ordinary reason for such
alliances is quintupled in our case. Do then just think
and be reasonable, before you talk tall about not liking
my jokes, and all that. Beggars mustn’t be choosers.’

‘ There’s really much reason in your argument,’ said
De Stancy, with a bitter laugh: ‘and my own heart
argues much the same way. But, leaving me to take
care of my aristocratic self, I advise your aristocratic
self to slip off at once to England like any hang-gallows
dog ; and if Somerset is here, and you have been doing
wrong in his name, and it all comes out, I’ll try to save
you, as far as an honest man can. If you have done no
wrong, of course there is no fear ; though I should be
obliged by your going homeward as quickly as possible,
as being better both for you and for me, . . . Hullo —
Damnation I ’

They had reached one side of the Schloss-Platz, no-
body apparently being near them save a sentinel who
was on duty before the Palace; but turning as he
spoke, De Stancy beheld a group consisting of his sister,
Paula, and Mr. Power, strolling across the square to-
wards them.

It was impossible to escape their observation, and
putting a bold front upon it, De Stancy advanced with
Dare at his side, till in a few moments the two parties
met, Paula and Charlotte recognizing Dare at once as
the young man who assisted at the castle.

‘I have met my young photographer,’ said De
Stancy cheerily. * What a sm^ world it is, as every-
body truly oh^rves 1 1 am wishing he could take some
360

DE STANCY AND PAULA

views for us as we go on ; but you have no apparatus
with you, I suppose, Mr. Dare ? ’

‘I have not, sir, I am sorry to say,* replied Dare
respectfully.

'You could get some, I suppose?* asked Paula of
the interesting young photographer.

Dare declared that it would be not impossible:
whereupon De Stancy said that it was only a passing
thought of his ; and in a few minutes the two parties
again separated, going their several ways.

‘ That was awkward,* said De Stancy, trembling with
excitement. 'I would advise you to keep further off
in future.*

Dare said thoughtfully that he would be careful,
adding, 'She is a prize for any man, indeed, leaving
alone the substantial possessions behind her! Now
was I too enthusiastic? Was I a fool for urging
you on?*

‘ Wait till success justifies the undertaking. In case
of failure it will have been anything but wise. It is no
light matter to have a carefully preserved repose broken
in upon for nothing — a repose that could never be
restored 1 *

lliey walked down the Carl-Friedrichs-Strasse to the
Margrave*s Pyramid, and back to the hotel, where Dare
also decided to take up his stay. De Stancy left him
with the book-keeper at the desk, and went upstairs to
see if the ladies had returned.

K LAODICEAN

rv

He found them in their sitting-room with their bonnets
on, as if they had just come in. Mr. Power was also
present, reading a newspaper, but Mrs. Goodman had
gone out to a neighbouring shop, in the windows of
which she had seen something which attracted her
fancy.

When De Stancy entered, Paula’s thoughts seemed
to revert to Dare, for almost at once she asked him in
what direction the youth was travelling. With some
hesitation De Stancy replied that he believed Mr. Dare
was returning to England after a spring trip for the im-
provement of his mind.

‘A very praiseworthy thing to do,' said Paula.
‘ What places has he visited ? '

‘ Those which afford opportunities for the study of
the old masters, I believe,’ said De Stancy blandly.
* He has also been to Turin, Genoa, Marseilles, and so
on.' The captain spoke the more readily to her ques-
tioning in that he divined her words to be dictated, not
by any suspicions of his relations with Dare, but by her
knowledge of Dare as the draughtsman employed by
Somerset.

* Has he been to Nice ? ’ she next demanded. * Did
he go there in company with my architect? ’

* I think not.*

36a

DE STANCy AND PAULA

‘Has he seen anything of him? My architect
Somerset once employed him. They know each other.’

‘ I think he saw Somerset for a short time.’

Paula was silent ‘ Do you know where this young
man Dare is at the present moment?’ she asked
quickly.

De Stancy said that Dare was staying at the same
hotel with themselves, and that he believed he was
downstairs.

‘ I think I can do no better than send for him,’ said
she. ‘ He may be able to throw some light upon the
matter of that telegram.’

She rang and despatched the waiter for the young
man in question, De Stancy almost visibly trembling for
the result. But he opened the town directory which
was lying on a table, and affected to be engrossed in
the names.

Before Dare was shown in she said to her unde,
‘ Perhaps you will speak to him for me ? ’

Mr. Power, looking up from the paper he was read-
ing, assented to her proposition. Dare appeared in the
doorway, and the waiter retired. Dare seemed a trifle
startled out of his usual coolness, the message having
evidently been unexpected, and he came forward some-
what uneasily.

‘ Mr. Dare, we are anxious to know something of Miss
Power’s architect ; and Captain De Stancy tells us you
have seen him lately,’ said Mr. Power sonorously over
the edge of his newspaper.

Not knowing whether danger menaced or no, or, if it
menaced, from what quarter it was to be expected, Dare
felt that honesty was as good as anything else for him,
and replied boldly that he had seen Mr. Somerset, De
Stancy continuing to cream and mantle almost visibly,
in anxiety at the situation of the speak^.

‘ And where did you see him ? ’ continued Mr. Power.

* In the Casino at Monte Carlo.’

363

A LAODICEAN

* How long did you see him ? *

‘ Only for half an hour. I left him there.’

Paula’s interest got the better of her reserve, and she
cut in upon her unde : * Did he seem in any unusual
state, or in trouble ? *

‘ He was rather excited,’ said Dare.

‘ And can you remember when that was ? ’

Dare considered, looked at his pocket-book, and said
that it was on the evening of April the twenty-second.

The answer had a significance for Paula, De Stancy,
and Charlotte, to which Abner Power was a stranger.
The telegraphic request for money, which had been kept
a secret from him by his niece, because of his already
unfriendly tone towards Somerset, arrived on the morn-
ing of the twenty-third — a date which neighboured with
painfully suggestive nicety upon that now given by Dare.

She seemed to be silenced, and asked no more
questions. Dare having furbished himself up to a
gentlemanly appearance with some of his recent win-
nings, was invited to stay on awhile by Paula’s uncle,
who, as became a travelled man, was not fastidious as
to company. Being a youth of the world. Dare made
himself agreeable to that gentleman, and afterwards
tried to do the same with Miss De Stancy. At this
the captain, to whom the situation for some time had
been amazingly uncomfortable, pleaded some excuse
for going out, and left the room.

Dare continued his endeavours to say a few polite
nothings to Charlotte De Stancy, in the course of which
he drew from his pocket his new silk handkerchief. By
some chance a card came out with the handkerchief,
and fluttered downwards. His momentary instinct was
to make a grasp at the card and conceal it : but it had
already tumbled « to the floor, where it lay face upward
beside Charlotte De Stancy’s chair.

It was ndther a visiting nor a playing card, but one
bearing a photographic portrait of a pecuUar nature. It
3^4

DE STANCY AND PAULA

was what Dare had characterized as his best joke of all
in speaking on the subject to Captain De Stancy; he
had in the morning put it ready in his' pocket to give
to the captain, and had in fact held it in waiting between
his finger and thumb while talking to him in the Platz,
meaning that he should make use of it against his rival
whenever convenient. But his sharp conversation with
that soldier had dulled his zest for this final joke at
Somerset's expense, had at least shown him that De
Stancy would not adopt the joke by accepting the
photograph and using it himself, and determined him
to lay it aside till a more convenient time. So fully
had he made up his mind on this course, that when
the photograph slipped out he did not at first perceive
the appositeness of the circumstance, in putting into
his own hands the rdle he had intended for De Stancy ;
though it was asserted afterwards that the whole scene
was deliberately planned. However, once having seen
the accident, he resolved to take the current as it
served.

The card having fallen beside her, Miss De Stancy
glanced over it, which indeed she could not help doing.
The smile that had previously hung upon her lips was
arrested as if by frost : and she involuntarily uttered
a little distressed cry of * O 1 ' like one in bodily pain,

Paula, who had been talking to her uncle during
this interlude, started round, and wondering what had
happened, inquiringly crossed the room to poor
Charlotte’s side, asldng her what was the matter.
Charlotte had regained self-possession, though not
enough to enable her to reply, and Paula asked her
a second time what had made her exclaim like that.
Miss De Stancy still seemed confused, whereupon
Paula noticed that her eyes were continually drawn
as if by fasdnation towards the photograph on the
floor, which, .contrary to his first impulse, Dare, as has
been said, now seemed in no hurry to regain. Bur-
sts

A LAODICEAN

mising at last that the card, whatever it was, had some-
thing to do with the exclamation, Paula picked it up.

It was a portrait of Somerset ; but by a device known
in photography the operator, though contriving to pro-
duce what seemed to be a perfect likeness, had given
it the distorted features and wild attitude of a man
advanced in intoxication. No woman, unless specially
cognizant of such possibilities, could have looked upon
it and doubted that the photograph was a genuine
illustration of a customary phase in the young man’s
private life.

Paula observed it, thoroughly took it in; but the
effect upon her was by no means clear. Charlotte’s eyes
at once forsook the portrait to dwell on Paula’s face. It
paled a little, and this was followed by a hot blush —
perceptibly a blush of shame. That was all. She flung
the picture down on the table, and moved away.

It was now M”. Power’s turn. Anticipating Dare,
who was advancing with a deprecatory look to seize
the photograph, he also grasped it. When he saw whom
it represented he seemed both amused and startled,
and after scanning it 'a while handed it to the young
man with a queer smile.

* I am very sorry,’ began Dare in a low voice to Mr.
Power. * I fear I was to blame for thoughtlessness in
not destroying it. But I thought it was rather funny
that a man should permit such a thing to be done, and
that the humour would redeem the offence.’

* In you, for purchasing it,’ said Paula with haughty
quickness from the other side of the room. ‘Though
probably his friends, if he has any, would say not in him.’

There was silence in tip room after this, and Dare,
finding himself rather in me way, took his leave as un-
ostentatiously as a oat that has upset the fiimily china,
though he continued to say among his apologies that
he was not aware Mr. Sommset was a personal Mend
of the ladies.

366

DE STANCY AND PAULA

Of all the thoughts which filled the minds of Paula
and Charlotte De Stancy, the thought that the photograph
might have been a fabrication was probably the last.
To them that picture of Somerset had all the cogency of
direct vision. Paula’s experience, much less Charlotte’s,
had never lain in the fields of heliographic science, and
they would as soon have thought that the sun could
again stand still upon Gibeon, as that it could be made
to falsify men’s characters in delineating their features.
What Abner Power thought he himself best knew. He
might have seen such pictures before; or he might
never have heard of them.

While pretending to resume his reading he closely
observed Paula, as did also Charlotte De Stancy; but
tlianks to the self-management which was Miss Power’s
as much by nature as by art, she dissembled whatever
emotion was in her.

^ It is a pity a professional man should make himself
so ludicrous,’ she said with such careless intonation that
it was almost impossible, even for Charlotte, who knew
her so well, to believe her indifference feigned.

‘ Yes,’ said Mr. Power, since Charlotte did not speak ;

^ It is what I scarcely should have expected.’

‘ O, I am not surprised ! ’ said Paula quickly. * You
don’t know all.’ The inference was, indeed, inevitable
that if ber unde were made aware of the telegram he
would see nothing unlikely in the picture. < Well, you
are very silent 1 ’ continued Paula petulantly, when she .
found that nobody went on talking. ‘ What made you
cry out “O,” Charlotte, when Mr. Dare dropped that
horrid ohotograph ? ’

‘I don’t know; I suppose it frightened me,’
stammered the girl.

‘It was a stupid fuss to make before such a
person. One would think you were in love with Mr.
Somerset’

‘What did you say, Paula?’ inquired her unde,
367

A LAODICEAN

looking up from the newspaper which he had again
resumed.

‘ Nothing, Uncle Abner.’ She walked to the window,
and, as if to tide over what was plainly passing in their
minds about her, she began to make remarks on objects
in the street. ‘ AVhat a quaint being — look, Charlotte ! ’
It was an old woman sitting by a stall on the opposite
side of the way, which seemed suddenly to hit Paula’s
sense of the humorous, though beyond the fart that the
dame was old and poor, and wore a white handkerchief
over her head, there was really nothing noteworthy
about her.

Paula seemed to be more hurt by what the silence
of her companions implied — a suspicion that the dis-
covery of Somerset’s depravity was wounding her heart
— than by the wound itself. The ostensible ease with
which she drew them into a bye conversation had
perhaps the defect of proving too much: though her
tacit contention that no love was in question was not
incredible on the supposition that .affronted pride alone
caused her embanassment. The chief symptom of her
heart bdng really tender towards Somerset consisted in
her apparent blindness to Charlotte’s secret, so obviously
su^ested her momentary agitation.

D£ STANCY AND PAULA

V

And where was the subject of their condemnatory
opinions all this while? Having secured a room at
his inn, he came forth to complete the discovery of his
dear mistress’s halting-place without delay. After one
or two inquiries he ascertained where such a party of
English were staying ; and arriving at the hotel, knew
at once that he had tracked them to earth by seeing the
heavier portion of the Power luggage confronting him in
the hall. He sent up intelligence of his presence, and
awaited her reply with a l)eaiing heart.

In the meanwhile Dare, descending from his pernicious
interview with Paula and the rest, had descried Captain
De Stancy in the public drawing-room, and entered to
him forthwith. It was while they were here together
that Somerset passed the door and sent up his name to
Paula.

The incident at the railway station was now reversed,
Somerset being the observed of Dare, as Dare had then
been the observed of Somerset. Immediately on sight
of him Dare showed real alarm. He had imagined that
Somerset would eventually impinge on Paula’s route,
but he had scarcely expected it yet ; and tbe'archilieet’s
sudden appearance led Dare to ask himself the ominous
question whether Somerset had discovered his telegraphic
trick, and was in the mood for prompt measures.

369 a A

A LAODICEAN

* There is no more for me to do here/ said the boy-
man hastily to De Stancy. * Miss Power does not wish
to ask me any more questions. I may as well proceed
on my way, as you advised.’

De Stancy, who had also gazed with dismay at
Somerset’s passing figure, though with dismay of another
sort, was recalled from his vexation by Dare’s remarks,
and turning upon him he said sharply, ‘ Well may you
be in such a hurry all of a sudden ! ’

‘ True, I am superfluous now.’

‘ You have been doing a foolish thing, and you must
suffer its inconveniences. — Will, I am sorry for one
thing ; I am sorry I ever owned you ; for you are not
a lad to my heart. You have disappointed me — disap*
pointed me almost beyond endurance.’

‘ 1 have acted acccording to my Dlumination. What
can you expect of a man born to dishonour ? ’

* That’s mere speciousness. Before you knew any-
thing of me, and while you thought you were the child
of poverty on both sides, you were well enough; but
ever since you thought you were more than that, you
have led a life which is intolerable. What has become
of your plan of alliance between the De Stancys and the
Powers now ? The man is gone upstairs’who can over-
throw it all.’

* If the man had not gone upstairs, you wouldn’t have
complained of my nature or my plans,’ said Dare drily.
< If 1 mistake not, he will come down agmn with the flea
in his ear. However, I have done ; my play is played
out. All the rest remains with you. But, captain, grant
me thisl If when I am gone this difficulty should
vanish, and things should go well with you, and your
suit should prosper, will you think of him, bad as he is^
who first put you on the track of such happiness, and
let him know it was not done in vain ? ’

* I will,’ said De Stancy. * Promise me that you will
be a better boy?’

37P

DE STANCY AND PAULA

‘ Very.wdl — as soon as ever I can afford it. Now I
am up and away, when 1 have eiqplained to them that I
shall not require my room.’

Dare fetched bis bag, touched liis hat with his
umbrdla to the captain, and went out of the hotd arch- '
way. De Stancy sat down in the stufiy drawing-room,
and wondered what other ironies time had in store for
him.

A waiter in jthe interim had announced Somerset to
the group upstairs. Paula started as much as Charlotte
at hearing the name, and Abner Power stared at them
both.

< If Mr. Somerset wishes to see me on business^ show
him in,’ said Paula.

In a few seconds the door was thrown open for
Somerset. On receipt of the pointed message he guessed
that a change had come. Time, absence, ambition, her
uncle’s influence, and a new wooer, seemed to account
sufliciently well for that change, and he accepted his &te.
But a stoical instinct to show her that he could regard
vicissitudes with the equanimity that became a man ; a
desire to ease her mind of any fear she might entertain
that his connection with her past would render him
troublesome in future, induced him to accept her per-
mission, and see the act to the end.

‘ How do you do, Mr. Somerset ? ’ said Abner Power,
with sardonic 'geniality : he had been far enough about
the world not to be greatly concerned at Somerset’s
apparent failing, partici^ly when it helped to reduce him
from the rank of lover to his niece to that of professional
advisei.

Miss De Stancy faltered a welcome as weak as that
of the Maid of Neidpath, and Paula said coldly, < We m
rather surprised to see you. Perhaps there is something
urgent at the castle which makes it necessary for you to
call?’

* There is something a little urgaat,’ said Somerset

371

A LAODICEAN

slonirly, as he approached her; <and you have judged
rightly that it is the cause of my call/ He sat down
near her chair as he spoke, put down his hat, and drew
a note-book from his pocket with a despairing san^
froid that was far more perfect than had been Paula's
demeanour just before. ^

‘Perhaps you would like to talk over the business
with Mr. Somerset alone ? ’ murmured Charlotte to Miss
Power, hardly knowing what she said.

‘ O no,' said Paula, ‘ I think not. Is it necessary ? '
she said, turning to him.

‘ Not in the least,’ replied he, bestowing a penetrating
glance upon his questioner’s face, which seemed however
to produce no effect ; and turning towards Charlotte, he
added, ‘ You will have the goodness, I am sure, Miss De
Stancy, to excuse the jargon of professional details.’

He spread some tracings on the table, and pointed
out certain modified features to Paula, commenting as
he went on, and exchanging occasionally a few words
on the subject with Mr. Abner Power by the distant
window.

In this architectural dialogue over his sketches,
Somerset’s head and Paula's became unavoidably very
dose. The temptation was too much* for the young
man. Under cover of the rustle of the tracings, he
murmured, ‘ Paula, I could not get here before ! ' in a
low voice inaudible to the other two.

She did not reply, only busying herself the more with
the notes and sketches ; and he said again, ‘ I stayed a
couple of days at Genoa, and some days at San Remo,
and Mentone.’

‘ But it is not the least concern of mine where you
stayed, is it ?’ she said, with a cold yet disquieted
look.

‘ Do you spe^ Seriously ? ’ Somerset brokenly whis-
pered.

Paula concluded her examination of the drawings
37 *

DE STANCY AND PAULA

and turned from him with sorrowful disregard. He
tried no further, but, when she had signified her pleasure
on the points submitted, packed up to papers, and rose
with the bearing of a man altogether superior to such a
class of misfortune as this. Before going he turned to
speak p few words of a general kind to Mr. Power and
Charldlte.

‘ You will stay and dine with us ? ’ said the former,
rather with the air of being unhappily able to do no less
than ask the question. *My charges here won’t go
down to the I fear, but De Stancy and

myself will be there.’

Somerset excused himself, and in a few minutes
withdrew. At the door he looked round for an instant,
and his eyes met Paula’s. There was the same miles-
off expression in hers that they had worn when he
entered ; but there was also a look of distressful inquiry,
as if she were earnestly expecting him to say something
more. This of course Somerset did not comprehend.
Possibly she was clinging to a hope of some excuse for
the message he was supposed to have sent, or for the
other and more degrading matter. Anyhow, Somerset
only bowed and went away.

A moment after he had gone, Paula, impelled by
something or other, crossed the room to the window.
In a short time she saw his form in the broad street
below, which he traversed obliquely to an opposite
corner, his head somewhat bent, and his eyes on the
ground Before vanishing into the Ritterstrasse he
turned his head and glanced at the hotel windows, as
if he knew that she was watching him. Then he dis-
appeared ; and the only real sign of emotion betrayed
by Paula during the whole episode escaped her at this
moment. It was a slight trembling of the lip and a
sigh so slowly breathed that scarce anybody could hear—
scarcdy even Charlotte, who was reclining on a couch,
her face on her hand and her eyes downcast
373

A LAODICEAN

Not more than two minutes had elapsed when Mrs.
Goodman came in with a manner of haste.

* You have returned/ said Mr. Power. ‘ Have you
made your purchases ? ’

Without answering, she asked, ‘ Whom, of all people
on earth, do you think I have met ? Mr. Somerset *
Has he been here? — he passed me almost without
speaking i ’

* Yes, he has been here,’ said Paula. * He is on the
way from Genoa home, and called on business.’

* You will have him here to dinner, of course ? ’

* I asked him,’ said Mr. Power, ‘ but he declined.’

* O, that’s unfortunate 1 Surely we could get him to
come. You would like to have him here, would you
not; Paula ? ’

* No, indeed. I don’t want him here,’ said she.

‘ You don’t ? ’

* No ! ’ she said sharply.

* You used to like him well enough, anyhow,’ bluntly
rejoined Mrs. Goodman.

Paula sedately : * It is a mistake to suppose that J
ever particularly liked the gentleman mentioned.’

< Then you are wrong, Mrs. Goodman, it seems,’ said
Mr. Power.

Mrs. Goodman, who had been growing quietly indig*
nant, notwithstanding a vigorous use of her fan, at this
said : ^ Fie, fie, Paula ! you did like him. You said to
me only a week or two ago that you should not at all
object to marry him.’

< It is a mistake,’ repeated Paula calmly. ‘ I meant
the other one of the two we were talking about.’

‘ What, Captain De Stancy ? ’

‘Yes.’

Knowing this to be a fiction, Mrs* Goodman made
no remark, and hoaxing a slight noise bdiind, turned her
head. Seeing her aunt's action, I’aula also looked
round. The door had been left ajar, and iQe Stancy
374

DB STANCY AND PAULA

was standing in the room. The last words of Mrs.
Goodman, and Paula’s reply, must have been quite
audible to him.

They looked at each other much as if they had
unexpectedly met at the altar ; but after a momentary
start Paula did not flinch from the position into which
hurt pride had betrayed her. De Stancy bowed grace-
fully, and she merely walked to the furthest window,
whither he followed her.

* I am eternally grateful to you for avowing that I
have won favour in your sight at last,’ he whispered.

She acknowledged the remark with a somewhat
reserved bearing. < Really I don’t deserve your grati-
tude,’ she said. * 1 did not know you were there.’

‘1 know you did not — that’s why the avowal is so
sweet to me. Can I take you at your word ? ’

‘ Yes, I suppose.’

‘Then your preference is the greatest honour that
has ever fallen to my lot. It is enough: you accept
me?’

‘ As a lover on probation — no more.’

The conversation being carried on in low tones,
Paula’s uncle and aqnt took it as a hint that their
presence could be spared, and severally left the room
— the former gladly, the latter with some vexation.
Charlotte De Stancy followed.

‘ And to what am I indebted for this happy change ? ’
inquired De Stancy, as soon as they were alone.

* You shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth,’ she
replied brusquely, and with tears in her eyes for one
gone.

‘ You mistake my motive I am like a reprieved
criminal, and can scarcely believe the news ’

‘You shouldn’t say that to me, or I shall begin to
think I have been too kind,’ she answered, some of the
archness of her manner returning. ‘ Now, I know what
you mean to say in answer; but I don’t want to hear
375

A LAODICEAN

any more at present; and whatever you do, don’t fall
into the mistake of supposing I have accepted you in
any other sense than tl)e way I say. If you don’t like
such a limitation you^ can go away. I dare say I shall
get over it.’

‘Go away! Could I go away? — But you are be-
ginning to tease, and will soon punish me severely ; so
I will make my escape while all is well. It would be
presumptuous to expect more in one day.’

‘It would indeed,’ said Paula, with her eyes on a
bunch of flowers.

D£ STANCY AND PAULA

VI

On leaving the hotel, Somerset's first impulse was
to get out of sight of its windows, and his glance
upward had perhaps not the tender significance that
Paula imagined, the last look impelled by any such
whiff of emotion having been the lingering one he
bestowed upon her in passing out of the room. Un-
luckily for the prospects of this attachment, Paula’s
conduct towards him now, as a result of misrepre-
sentation, had enough in common with her previous
silence at Nice to make it not unreasonable as a
further development of that silence. Moreover, her
social position as a woman of wealth, always fdt by
Somerset as a perceptible bar to that full and free
eagerness with which he would fain have approached
her, rendered it impossible for him to return to the
charge, ascertain the reason of her coldness, and dis-
pel it by an explanation, without being suspected of
mercenary objects. Continually does it happen that
a genial willingness to bottle up affronts is set down
to interested motives by those who do ut0t know what
generous conduct means. Had she occupied the
financial position of Miss De Stancy he would readily
have persisted further and, not improbably, have cleared
up the cloud.

377

A LAODICEAN

Having no further interest in Carlsruhe, Somerset
decided to leave an evening train. The intervening
hour he spent in wandering into the thick of the fair,
where steam roundabouts, the proprietors of wax-work
shows, and fancy-stall keepers maintained a deafen-
ing din. The animated environment was better than
silence, for it fostered in him an artificial indifference
to the events that had just happened — an indifference
which, though he too well knew it was only destined
to be temporary, afforded a passive period wherein
to store up strength that should enable him to with-
stand the wear and tear of regrets which would surely
set in soon. It was the case with Somerset as with
others of his temperament, that he did not feel a
blow of this sort immediately ; and what often seemed
like stoicism after misfortune was only the neutral
numbness of transition from palpitating hope to assured
wretchedness.

He walked round and round the fair till all th6
exhibitors knew him by sight, and when the sun got
low he turned into the Erbprinzen-Strasse, now raked
from end to end by ensaffroned rays of level light.
Seeking his hotel he dined there, and left by the even-
ing train for Heidelberg.

Heidelberg with its romantic surroundings was not
precisely the place calculated to heal Somerset’s wounded
heart. He had known the town of yore, and his recol-
lections of that period, when, unfettered in fancy, he
had transferred to his sketch-book the fine Renaissance
details of the Otto-Heinrichs-Bau came back with un-
pleasant force. He knew of some carved cask-heads
and other curious wood-work in the castle cellars, copies
of which, being unobtainable by photographs, he had
intended to mi^ if all went well between Paula and
himself. The zest for this was noyr well-nigh over.
But on awaking in the morning and lookiog up the
378

DE STANCY AK^ PAULA

valley towards the castle, and at the dark green
height of the Kdnigsstuhl alongside, he fdt that to
become vanquished by a passion, driven to suffer,
fast, and pray in the dull pains and vapours of de-
spised love, was a contingency not to ^ welcomed
too readily. Thereupon he set himsdf to leain the
sad science of renunciation, which everybody has to
learn in his degree — either rebelling throughout the
lesson, or, like Somerset, taking to it kindly by force
of judgment. A more obstinate pupil might have
altogether escaped the lesson in the present case by
discovering its illegality.

Resolving to persevere in the heretofore satisfactory
paths of art while life and faculties were left, though
every instinct must proclaim that there would be
no longer any collateral attraction in that pursuit,
l\e went along under the trees of the Anlage and
reached the castle vaults, in whose cool shades he
spent the afternoon, working out his intentions with
fair result. When he had strolled back to his hotel
in the evening the time was approaching for the
table ’^d^hdte. Having seated himself rather early,
he spent the few minutes of waiting in looking over
his pocket-book, and putting a few finishing touches
to the afternoon performance whilst the objects were
fresh in his memory. Thus occupied he was but
dimly conscious of the customary rustle of dresses
and pulling up of chairs by the crowd of other diners
as they gathered around him. Serving began, and
he put away bis book and prepared for ^e meal.
He bad hardly done this when he became con-
scious that the person on his left hand was not the**
typical cosmopolite with boundless hotd knowledge
and irrelevant experiences that he was accustom^
to find next him, but a fia.^ he reoognbed as that
of a young man whom he had met and talked to.
at Stancy CaaUe garden-party, whose name he had
379

A LAODICEAN

now forgotten. This young fellow was conversing
with somebody on his left hand — no other personage
than Pauk herself. Next to Pauk he beheld De
Stancy, and De Stancy’s sister beyond him. It was
one of those gratuitous encounters which only happen
to discarded lovers who have shown commendable
stoicism under disappointment, as if on purpose to
reopen and aggravate their wounds.

It seemed as if the intervening traveller had met
the other party by accident there and then. In a
minute he turned and recognized Somerset, and by
degrees the young men’s cursory remarks to each
other developed into a pretty regular conversation,
interrupted only when he turned to speak to Pauk on
his left hand.

‘Your architectural adviser travels in your party:
how very convenient,* said the young tourist to her.

* Far pleasanter than having a medical attendant in
one’s train ! ’

Somerset, who had no distractions on the other side
of him, could hear every word of this. He gknced
at Pauk. She had not known of his presence in
the room till now. Their eyes met for a second, and
she bowed sedately. Somerset returned Ijer bow, and
her eyes were quickly withdrawn with scarcdy visible
confusion.

‘ Mr. Somerset is not travelling with us,* she said.

* We have met by accident. Mr. Somerset came to me
on business a little while ago.*

*I must congratukte you on having put the castle
into good hands,* continued the enthuskstic young
man.

< I believe Mr. Somerset is quite competent,* said
Pauk stiffly.

To include Spiderset in the conversation the young
man turned to him and added : ‘ You carry on your
work at the castle amore^ no doubt ? *

380

DE STANCY AND PAULA

* There is work I should like better/ said Somer>
set.

‘ Indeed ? ’

The frigidity of his manner seemed to set her at
ease by dispersing all fear of a scene; and alternate
dialogues of this sort with the gentleman in their midst
were more or less continued by both Paula and Somerset
till they rose from table.

In the bustle of moving out the two latter for one
moment stood side by side.

‘ Miss Power/ said Somerset, in a low voice that was
obscured by the rustle, * you have nothing more to say
to me ? ’

‘ I think there is nothing more ? ’ said Paula, lifting
her eyes with longing reticence.

‘Then I take leave of you; and tender my best
wishes that you may have a pleasant time before
you! ... I set out for England to-night.’

‘ With a special photographer, no doubt ? ’

It was the first time that she had addressed Somerset
with a meaning distinctly bitter ; and her remark, which
had reference to the forged photograph, fell of course
without its intended effect.

‘ No, Miss Power,’ said Somerset gravely. ‘ But with
a deeper sense of woman’s thoughtless trifling than time
will ever eradicate.*

‘ Is not that a mistake ? ’ she asked in a voice that
distinctly trembled.

‘*A mistake ? How ? ’

‘ I mean, do you not forget many things ? * (throwing
on him a troubled glance). ‘ A woman may feel herself
justified in her conduct, although it admits of no ex-
planation.’

‘ I don’t contest the point for a moment. . . . Gbdd-
bye.’

* Good-bye.’

They parted amid the flowering shrubs and caged

381

A LAODICEAN

birds in the hall, and he saw her no more. De Stanqr
came up, and spoke a few commonplace words, his sister
having gone out, mther without perceiving Somerset, or
with intention to avoid him.

That night, as be had said, be was on his way to
England.

DE STANCY AND PAULA

VII

The De Stancys and Powers remained in Heidelberg
for some days. All remarked that after Somerset’s
departure Paula was frequently irritable, though at
other times as serene as ever. Yet even when in a
blithe and saucy mood there was at bottom a tinge
of melancholy. Something did not lie easy in her un-
demonstrative heart, and all her friends excused the
inequalities of a humour whose source, though not
positively known, could be feirly well guessed.

De Stancy had long since discovered that his chance
lay chiefly in her recently acquired and fanciful /rif-
dilection d^artiste for hoary mediaev^J families with
ancestors in alabaster and primogenitive renown.
Seeing this he dwelt on those topics which brought out
that aspect of himself more clearly, talking feudalism and
chivalry with a zest that he had never hitherto shown,
Yet it was not altogether factitious. For, discovering
how much this quondam Puritan was interested in the
attributes of long-chronicled houses, a reflected interest
in himself arose in his own soul, and he began to wonder
why he had not prized these things before. TiU now
disgusted by the failure of his family to hold its own in
the turmoil between ancient and modem, he had grown
to undervalue its past prestige ; and it was with corrective
ardour that he adopted while he ministered to her views.

A LAODICEAN

Henceforward the wooing of De Stancy took the
form of an intermittent address, the incidents of their
travel furnishing pegs whereon to hang his subject;
sometimes hindering it, but seldom failing to produce
in her a greater tolerance of his presence. His next
opportunity was the day after Somerset’s departure from
Heidelberg. They stood on the great terrace of the
Schloss-Garten, looking across the intervening ravine to
the north-east front of the castle which rose before them
in all its customary warm tints and battered magnificence.

* This is a spot, if any, which should bring matters
to a crisis between you and me,’ he asserted good-
humouredly. * But you have been so silent to-day that
I lose the spirit to take advantage of my privilege.’

She inquired what privilege he spoke of, as if quite
another subject had been in her mind than De Stancy.

* The privilege of winning your heart if I can, which
you gave me at Carlsruhe.’

‘O,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ve been thinking of that.
But I do not feel myself absolutely bound by the state-
ment I made in that room; and I shall expect, if I
withdraw it, not to be called to account by you.’

De Stancy looked rather blank.

‘ If you recede from your promise you will doubtless
have good reason. But I must solemnly beg you, after
raising my hopes, to keep as near as you can to your
word, so as not to throw me into utter despair.’

Paula dropped her glance into the Thier-Garten
below them, where gay promenaders were clambering up
between the bushes and flowers. At length she said,
with evident embarrassment, but with much distinctness,:
‘ I deserve much more blame for what I have done than
you can express to me. I will confess to you the whole
truth. All that I told you in the hotel at Carlsruhe
was said in a moment of pique at what had happened
just before you came in. It was supposed I was much
involved with another man, and circumstances made the

3S4 .

DE STANCY AND PAULA

supposition particularly objectionable. To escape it I
jumped at the alternative of yourself.*

‘ That’s bad for me i * he murmured.

‘ If after this avowal you bind me to my words I
shall say no more : I do not wish to recede from them
without your full permission.*

‘ What a caprice ! But 1 release you unconditionally,*
he said. * And I beg your pardon if 1 seemed to show
too much assurance. Please put it down to my gratified
excitement. I entirely acquiesce in your wisL I will
go away to whatever place you please, and not come
near you but by your own permission, and till you are
quite satisfied that my presence and what it may lead
to is not undesirable. I entirely give way before you,
and will endeavour to make my future devotedness, if
ever we meet again, a new ground for expecting your
favour.*

Paula seemed struck by the generous and cheerful
fairness of his remarks, and said gently, ‘ Perhaps your
departure is not absolutely necessary for my happiness ;
and I do not wish from what you call caprice *

* I retract that word.*

‘ Well, whatever it is, I don’t wish you to do any-
thing which should cause you real pain, or trouble, or
humiliation.*

‘ That’s very good of you.*

‘ But I reserve to myself the right to accept or refuse
your addresses — ^just as if those rash words of mine had
never been spoken.*

‘I must bear it all as best I can, I suppose,* said
De Stancy, with melancholy humorousness.

< And I shall treat you as your behaviour shall seem
to deserve,* she said playfully.

‘Then I may stay?*

‘ Yes ; I am willing to give you that pleasure, if it is
one, in return for the attentions you have shown^ and
the trouble you have taken to make my journey pleasant*
385 as

A LAODICEAN

She walked on and discovered Mrs. Goodman near,
and presently the whole party met together. De Stancy
did not find himself again at her side till later in
the afternoon, when they had left the immediate pre-
cincts of the castle and decided on a drive to the
KdnigsstuhL

The carriage, containing only Mrs. Goodman, was
driven a short way up the winding incline, Paula, her
uncle, and Miss De Stancy walking behind under the
shadow of the trees. Then Mrs. Goodman called to
them and asked when they were going to join her.

‘ We are going to walk up,* said Mr. Power.

Paula seemed seized with a spirit of boisterousness
quite unlike her usual behaviour. ‘ My aunt may drive
up, and you may walk up; but I shall run up,’ she
said. * See, here’s a way.’ She tripped towards a path
through the bushes which, instead of winding like the
regular track, made straight for the summit.

Paula had not the ’•emotest conception of the actual
distance to the top, imagining it to be but a couple of
hundred yards at the outside, whereas it was really
nearer a mile, the ascent being uniformly steep all the
way. When her uncle and De Stancy had seen her
vanish they stood still, the former evidently reluctant
to forsake the easy ascent for a difficult one, though
he said, * We can’t let her go alone that way, I
suppose.’

‘ No, of course not,’ said De Stancy.

They then followed in the direction taken by Paula,
Charlotte entering the carriage. When Power and De
Stancy had ascended about &ty yards the former looked
back, and dropped off from the pursuit, to return to
the easy route, giving his companion a parting hint
concerning Paul& Whereupon De Stancy went on
alone. He soon s^w Paula above him in the path,
which ascended skyward straight as Jacob’s Ladder,
but was so overhung the bmshwood as to be quite

DE STANCY AND PAULA

shut out from the stin. When he reached her side
she was moving easily upward, apparently enjoying the
seclusion which the place afforded.

‘ Is not my uncle with you ? * she said, on turning
and seeing him.

* He went back,’ said De Stancy.

She replied that it was of no consequence ; that she
should meet him at the top, she supposed.

Paula looked up amid the green light which filtered
through the leafage as far as her eyes could stretch.
But the top did not appear, and she allowed De Stancy
to get in front. * It did not seem such a long way as
this, to look at,’ she presently said.

He explained that the trees had deceived her as to
the real height, by reason of her seeing the slope fore-
shortened when she looked up from the castle. ‘ Allow
me to help you,’ he added.

‘No, thank you,’ said Paula lightly; ‘we must be
near the top.’

They went on again; but no Konigsstuhl. When
next De Stancy turned he found that she was sitting
down ; immediately going l)ack he offered his arm
She took it in silence, declaring that it was no wonder
her uncle did not come that wearisome way, if he had
ever been there before.

De Stancy did not explain that Mr. Power had said
to him at parting, ‘There’s a chance for you, if you
want one,’ but at once went on with the subject begun
on the terrace. ‘If my behaviour is good, you will
reaffirm the statement made at Carlsruhe ? ’

‘It is not fair to begin that now!’ expostulated
Paula ; ‘ T can only think of getting to the top.’

Her colour deepening by the exertion, he suggested
that she should sit down again on one of the mossy
boulders by the wayside. Nothing loth she did, De
Stancy standing by, and with his cane scratching the
moss from the stone.

387

A LAODICEAN

"^This is rather awkward/ said Paula, in her usual
circumspect way. <My relatives and your sister will
be sure to suspect me of having arranged this scramble
with you.'

‘ But I know better,' sighed De Stancy. ‘ I wish to
Heaven you had arranged it ! '

She was not at the top, but she took advantage
of the halt to answer his previous question. ‘There
are many points on which I must be satisfied before
I can reaffirm anything. Do you not see that you
are mistaken in clinging to this idea? — that you
are laying up mortification and disappointment for your-
self? *

* A negative reply from you would be disappointment,
early or late.’

‘ And you prefer having it late to accepting it now ?
If I were a man, I should like to abandon a false scent
as soon as possible.’

‘I suppose all that has but one meaning: that I
am to go.’

‘O no,' she magnanimously assured him, bounding
up from her seat ; ‘ I adhere to my statement that you
may stay; though it is true something may possibly
happen to make me alter my mind.'

He again offered his arm, and from sheer necessity
she leant upon it as before.

‘ Grant me but a moment’s patience,’ he began.

‘ Captain De Stancy ! Is this fair ? I am physically
obliged to hold your arm, so tliat I must listen to what
you say 1 ’

‘ No, it is not fair ; 'pon my soul it is not ! ’ said De
Stancy. ‘ I won’t say another word.'

He did not; and they clambered on through the
boughs, nothing disturbing the solitude but the rustle
of their own footsteps and the singing of birds overhead.
They occasionally got a peep at the sky ; and whenever
a twig hung out in a position to strike Paula's face the
388

DE STANCY AND PAULA

gallant eaptain bent it aside with his stick. But she did
not thank him. Perhaps he was just as well satisfied
as if she had done so.

Paula, panting, broke the silence : Will you go on,
and discover if the top is near ? *

He went on. This time the top was near. When
he returned she was sitting where he had left her among
the leaves. * It is quite near now,' he told her tenderly,
and she took his arm again without a word. Soon the
path changed its nature from a steep and rugged water-
course to a level green promenade.

‘Thank you, Captain De Stancy,' she said, letting
go his arm as if relieved.

Before them rose the tower, and at the base they
beheld two of their friends, Mr. Power being seen above,
looking over the parapet through his glass.

‘ You will go to the top now ? ' said Di‘ Stancy.

* No, I take no interest in it. My interest has turned
to fatigue. I only want to go home.'

He took her on to where the carriage stood at the
foot of the tower, and leaving her with his sister as-
cended the turret to the top. The landscape had quite
changed from its afternoon appearance, and had become
rather marvellous than beautiful. The air was charged
with a lurid exhalation that blurred the extensive view.
He could see the distant Rhine at its junction with the
Neckar, shining like a thread of blood through the
mist which was gradually wrapping up the declining
sun. The scene had in it something that was more
than melancholy, and not much less than tragic ; but
for De Stancy such evening effects possess^ little
meaning. He was engaged in an enterprise that taxed
all his resources, and had no sentiments to spare for air,
earth, or skies.

* Remarkable scene,’ said Power, mildly, at bis elbow.

* Yes ; I dare say it is,’ said De Stancy. * Time ha^
been when I should have held forth upon such a pros

389

A LAODICEAN

pect, and wondered if its livid colours shadowed out my
own life, et caetera, et caetera. But, begad, I have
almost forgotten there’s such a thing as Nature, and I
care for nothing but a comfortable life, and a certain
woman who does not care for me ! . . . Now shall we
go down ? ’

DE STANCY AND PAULA

VIII

It was quite true that De Stancy at the present period
of his existence wished only to escape fiom the hurly-
burly of active life, and to win the affection of Paula
Power. There were, however, occasions when a recol-
lection of his old renunciatory vows would obtrude itself
upon him, and tinge his present >\ith wayward bitterness.
So much was this the case that a day or two after they
had arrived at Mainz he could not icfrain from making
remarks almost prejudicial to his cause, saying to her,
‘I am unfortunate in my situation. There are, un-
happily, worldly reasons why I should pretend to love
you, even if I do not : they are so strong that, though
really loving you, perhaps they enter into mv thoughts
of you.’

‘ I don’t want to know what such reasons are,’ said
Paula, with promptness, for it required but little astute-
ness to discover that he alluded to the alienated Wessex
home and estates. ‘ You lack tone,’ she gently added :
‘tliat’s why the situation of affairs seems (hstasteful
to you.’

*Yes, I suppose I am ill. And yet I am well
enough.'

These remarks passed under a tree in the public
gardens during an odd minute of waiting for Clwlotte
and Mrs. Goodman ; and he said no more to her in

391

A LAODICEAN

private that day. Few as her words had been he liked
them better than any he had lately received. The
conversation was not resumed till they were gliding
‘between the banks that bear the vine/ on board
one of the Rhine steamboats, which, like the hotels in
this early summer time, were comparatively free from
other English travellers ; so that everywhere Paula and
her party were received with open arms and cheer-
ful countenances, as among the first swallows of the
season.

The saloon of the steamboat was quite empty, the
few passengers being outside; and this paucity of
voyagers afforded De Stancy a roomy opportunity.

Paula saw him approach her, and there appearing in
his face signs that he would begin again on the eternal
subject, she seemed to be struck with a sense of the
ludicrous.

De Stancy reddened. * Something seems to amuse
you,’ he said.

‘ It is over,’ she replied, becoming serious.

‘ Was it about me, and this unhappy fever in me ? '

* If I speak the truth I must say it was.*

‘ You thought, “ Here’s that absurd man a^ain, going
to begin his daily supplication.” ’

‘ Not “ absurd,” ’ she said, with emphasis ; ‘ because I
don’t think it is absurd.’

She continued looking through the windows at the
Lurlei Heights under which they were now passing, and
he remained with his eyes on her.

‘May I stay here with you?’ he said at last. ‘I
have not bad a word with you alone for four-and-twenty
hours.’

‘ You must be cheer&il, then.’

‘You have said such as that before* I wish you
would say “ loving ” instead of “ cheerful.” ’

‘Yes, I know, I know,’ she responded, with im-
patient perplexity. < But why must you think of me —
39 *

DE STANCY AND PAULA

me only ? Is there no other woman in the world who
has the power to ,make you happy ? I am sure there
must be.'

‘ Perhaps there is ; but I have never seen her.'

‘Then look for her; and believe me when I say that
you will certainly find her.'

He shook his head.

* Captain De Stancy, I have long felt for you,' she
continued, with a frank glance into his face. ‘ You have
deprived yourself too long of other women's company.
Why not go away for a little time ? and when you have
found somebody else likely to make you happy, you can
meet me again. I will see >ou at your father's house,
and we will enjoy all the pleasure of easy friendship.'

‘ Very correct ; and very cold, O best of women ! '

‘ You are too full of exclamations and transports, I
think 1 '

They stood in silence, Paula apparently much in-
terested in the manoeuvring of a raft which was passing
by. * Dear Miss Power,' he resumed, ‘ before I go and
join your uncle above, let me just ask. Do I stand any
chance at all yet? Is it possible you can never be
more pliant than you have been ? '

* You put me out of all patience ! '

‘ But why did you raise my hopes ? You should at
least pity me after doing that.'

‘Yes; it's that again! I unfortunately raised your
hopes because I was a fool — ^was not myself that
moment. Now question me no more. As it is I think
you presume too much upon my becoming yours as the
consequence of my having dismissed another.’

‘ Not on becoming mine, but on listening to me.’

‘ Your argument would be reasonable enough had 1
led you to believe 1 would listen to you — and ultimatdy
accept you; but that I have not done. I see now that
a woman who gives a man an answer one shade less
peremptory than a harsh negative may be carried beyond
393

A LAODICEAN

her intentions, and out of her own power before she
knows it.'

‘ Chide me if you will ; I don't care ! '

She looked steadfastly at him with a little mischief
in her eyes. ‘ You do care,' she said.

‘Then why don't you listen to me? I would not
persevere for a moment longer if it were against the
wishes of your family. Your uncle says it would give
him pleasure to see you accept me.'

‘ Does he say why ? ' she asked thoughtfully.

‘Yes; he takes, of course, a practical view of the
matter ; he thinks it commends itself so to reason and
common sense that the owner of Stancy Castle should
become a member of the De Stancy family.'

‘ Yes, that's the horrid plague of it,' she said, with
a nonchalance which seemed to contradict her words.
' It is so dreadfully reasonable that we should marry. I
wish it wasn't ! '

‘ Well, you are younger than 1, and perhaps that’s a
natural wish. But to me it seems a felicitous combina-
tion not often met with. I confess that your interest
in our family before you knew me lent a stability to my
hopes that otherwise they would not have had.'

‘ My interest in the De Stancys has not been a per-
sonal interest except in the case of your sister,* she
returned. ‘ It has been an historical interest only ; and
is not at all increased by your existence.'

‘ And perhaps it is not diminished ? ’

‘ No, I am not aware that it is diminished,’ she mur-
mured, as she observed the gliding shore.

‘ Well, you will allow me to say this, since I say it
without reference to your personality or to mine — ^that
the Power and De Stancy families are the complements
to each other ; and^ that, abstractedly, they call earnestly
to one another : “ How neat and fit a thing for us to
join hands I ” '

Paula, who was not prudish when a direct appeal
394

DE STANCY AND PAULA

was made to her common sense, answered with ready
candour: ‘Yes, from the point of view of domestic
politics, that undoubtedly is the case. But I hope I
am not so calculating as to risk happiness in order to
round off a social idea.'

‘ I hope not ; o^ that I am either. Still the social
idea exists, and my increased years make its excellence
more obvious to me than to you.'

The ice once broken on this aspect of the question,
the subject seemed further to engross her, and she spoke
on as if daringly inclined to venture where she had
never anticipated going, deriving pleasure from the very
strangeness of her temerity: ‘You mean that in the
fitness of things I ought to become a De Stancy to
strengthen my social position ? '

‘And that I ought to strengthen mine by alliance
with the heiress of a name so dear to engineering science
as Power.'

‘ Well, we are talking with unexpected frankness.'

‘But you are not seriously displeased with me for
sa)nng what, after all, one can't help feeling and
thinking ? '

‘ No. Only be so good as to leave off going further
for the present. Indeed, of the two, I would rather
have the other sort of address. I mean,' she hastily
added, ‘ that what you urge as the result of a real affec-
tion, however unsuitable, I have some remote satisfaction
in listening to — not the least from any reciprocal love
on my side, but from a woman's gratification at being
the object of anybody's devotion ; for that feeling to-
wards her is always regarded as a merit in a woman’s
eye, and taken as a kindness by her, even when it is
at the expense of her convenience.'

She had said, voluntarily or involuntarily, better
things than he expected, and perhaps too much in her
own opinion, for she hardly gave him an opportunity
of replying.

395

A LAODICEAN

They passed St. Goar and Boppard, and when steer-
ing round the sharp bend of the river just beyond the
latter place De Stancy met her again, exclaiming, ‘ You
left me very suddenly.’

‘You must make allowances, please,’ she said; ‘I
have always stood in need of them.’

‘ Then you shall always have the^ ’

* I don’t doubt it,’ .she said quickly ; but Paula was
not to be caught again, and kept close to the side of
her aunt while they glided past Brauback and Ober-
lahnstein. Approadiing Coblenz her aunt said, ‘ Paula,
let me suggest that you l)e not so much alone with
Captain De Stancy.’

‘ And why ? ’ said Paula quietly.

‘You’ll have plenty of offers if you want them,
without taking trouble,’ said the direct Mrs. Goodman.
‘ Your existence is hardly known to the world yet, and
Captain De Stancy is too near middle-age for a girl like
you.’ Paula did not reply to cither of these remarks,
being seemingly so interested in Ehrenbreitstdn’s heights
as not to hear them.

DE STANCY AND PAULA

IX

It was midnight at Coblenz, and the travellers had
retired to rest in their respective apartments, over-
looking the river. Finding that there was a moon
shining, Paula leant out of her window. The tall
rock of Ehrenbreitstein on the opposite shore was
flooded with light, and a belated steamer was drawing
up to the landing-stage, where it presently deposited
its passengers.

* We should have come by the last boat, so as to
have been touched into romance by the rays of this
moon, like those happy people,’ said a voice.

She looked towards the spot whence the voice
proceeded, which was a window quite near at hand.
De Stancy was smoking outside it, and she became
aware that the words were addressed to her.

‘ You left me very abruptly,’ he continued.

Paula’s instinct of caution impelled her to speak.
*The windows are all open,’ she murmured. ‘Please
be cpreful.’

‘ There are no English in this hotel except oursdves.
1 thank you for what you said to-day.’

‘ Please be careful,’ she repeated.

* My dear Miss P *

‘Don’t mention names, and don’t continue the
subject ! ’

397

A LAODICEAN

‘ Life and death perhaps depend upon my renewing
It soon ! ’

She shut the window decisively, possibly wondering
if De Stancy had drunk a glass or two of Steinberg more
than was good for him, and saw no more of moonlit
Ehrenbreitstein that night, and heard no more of De
Stancy. But it was some time before he closed his
window, and previous to doing so saw a dark form at
an adjoining one on the other side.

It was Mr. Power, also taking the air.

‘ Well, what luck to-day ? * said Power.

‘ A decided advance,* said De Stancy.

None of the speakers knew that a little person in
the room above heard all this out-of-window talk.
Charlotte, though not looking out, had left her case-
ment open ; and what reached her cars set her wondering
as to the result.

It is not necessary to detail in full De Stancy*s
imperceptible advances with Paula during that north-
ward journey — so slowly performed that it seemed as if
she must perceive there was a special reason for de-
laying her return to England. At Cologne one day he
conveniently overtook her when she was ascending the
hotel staircase. Seeing him, she went to the window
of the entresol landing, which commanded a view of
the Rhine, meaning that he should pass by to his
room.

‘ I have been very uneasy,* began the captain, draw-
ing up to her side ; ‘ and I am obliged to trouble you
sooner than I meant to do.*

Paula turned her eyes upon him with some curiosity
as to what was coming of this respectful demeanour.

‘ Indeed ! * she said.

He then informed her that he had been overhauling
himself since they last talked, and had some reason
to blame himself for bluntness and general want of
euphemism ; which, although he had meant nothing by
39B

DE STANCY AND PAULA

it, must have been very disagreeable to her. But he had
always aimed at sincerity, particularly as he had to deal
with a lady who despised hypocrisy and was above
flattery. However, he feared he might have carried
his disregard for conventionality foo far. But from
that time he would promise that she should And an
alteration by which he hoped he might return the
friendship at least of a young lady he honoured more
than any other in the world.

This retrograde movement was evidently unexpected
by the honoured young lady herself. After being so
long accustomed to rebuke him for his persistence
there was novelty in finding him do the work for her.
The guess might even have been hazarded that there
was also disappointment.

Still looking across the river at the bridge of
boats which stretched to the opposite suburb of
Deutz : ‘You need not blame yourself,* .she said, with
the mildest conceivable manner, ‘1 can make allow-
ances. All I \^ish is that you should remain under no
misapprehension.

* I comprehend,* he said thoughtfully. ‘ But since,
by a perverse fate, I have been thrown into your
company, you could hardly expect me to feel and act
otherwise.*

‘ Perhaps not.*

‘ Since I have so much reason to be dissatisfied with
myself,* he added, ‘I cannot refrain from criticizing
elsewhere to a slight extent, and thinking I have to
do with an ungenerous person.*

‘ Why ungenerous ? *

* In this way ; that since you cannot love me, you
see no reason at all for trying to do so in the fact that
I so deeply love you ; hence I say that you are rather
to be distinguished by your wisdom than by yoitr
humanity,*

* It comes to this, that if your words are all seriously

399

A LAODICEAN

meant it is much to be regretted we ever met,’ she
murmured. ‘Now will you go on to where you were
going, and leave me here ? ’

Without a remonstrance he went on, saying with' de-
jected whimsicality as he smiled hack upon her, ‘You
show a wisdom which for so young a lady is perfectly
surprising.’

It was resolved to prolong the journey by a circuit
through Holland and Belgium ; but nothing changed in
the attitudes of Paula and Captain De Stancy till one
afternoon during their stay at the Hague, when they had
gone for a drive down to Scheveningen by the long straight
avenue of chestnuts and limes, under whose boughs tufts
of wild parsley waved their flowers, except where the
buitenplaatsen of retired merchants blazed forth with new
paint of every hue. On mounting the dune which kept
out the sea behind the village a brisk breeze greeted
their faces, and a fine sand blew up into their eyes. De
Stancy screened Paula with his umbrella as they stood
with tiheir backs to the wind, looking down on the red
roofs of the village within the sea wall, and pulling at
the long grass which by some means fotmd nourishment
in the powdery soil of the dune.

When they had discussed the scene he continued,
‘It always seems to me that this place reflects the
average mood of human life. I mean, if we strike the
balance between our best moods and our worst we shall
find our average condition to stand at about the same
pitch in emotional colour as these sandy dunes and
this grey scene do in landscape.’

Paula contended that he ought not to measure every-
body by himself.

‘ I ^ve no other standard,’ said De Stancy ; ‘ and if
my own is wrong, it is you who have made it so. Have
you thought any more of what I said at Cologne ? '

‘I don’t quite remember what you say at
Cologne ? '

400

DE STANCY AND PAULA

* My dearest life ! ’ Paula’s eyes rounding some-
what, he corrected the exclamation* <My dear Miss
Power, I will, without reserve, tell it to you all over
agaih.’

‘ Pray spare yourself the effort,’ she said drily. ‘ What
has that one fatal step betrayed me into ! ... Do you
seriously mean to say that 1 am the cause of your life
being coloured like this scene of grass and sanc^? If
so, I have committed a very great fault 1 ’

‘ It can be nullified by a word.’

‘ Such a word ! ’

‘ It is a very short one.’

‘There’s a still shorter one more to the purpose.
Frankly, 1 believe you suspect me to have some latent
and unowned inclination for you — that you think speak-
ing is the only point upon which I am backward. . * <
There now, it is raining ; what shall we do ? I thought
this wind meant rain.’

‘ Do? Stand on here, as we are standing now.’

* Your sister and my aunt are gone under the wall
I think we will walk towards them.’

* You had made me hope,’ he continued (his thoughts
apparently far away from the rain and the wind and
the possibility of shelter), ‘ that you might change your
mind, and give to your original promise a liberal mean
ing in renewing it. In brief I mean this, that you
would allow it to merge into an engagement. Don’t
think it presumptuous,’ he went on, as he held the
umbrella over her; ‘I am sure any man would speak
as I do. A distinct permission to be with you on
probation— that was what you gave me at Carlsruhe:
and flinging casuistry on one side, what does that
mean?’

‘That 1 am artistically interested in your family
history.’ And she went out from the umhella to
the shelter of the hotel where she found her aunt
and friend, ^

tc

401

A LAODICEAN

De Stancy could not but feel that his persistence
had made some impression. It was hardly possible
that a woman of independent nature would have
tolerated his dangling at her side so long, if his
presence were wholly distasteful to her. That evening
when driving back to the Hague by a devious route
through the dense avenues of the Bosch he conversed
with ];ier again; also the next day when standing by
the Vijver looking at the swans ; and in each case she
seemed to have at least got over her objection to being
seen talking to him, apart from the remainder of the
travelling party.

Scenes very similar to those at Scheveningen and
on the Rhine were enacted at later stages of their
desultory journey. Mr. Power had proposed to cross
from Rotterdam; but a stiff north-westerly br^e pre-
vailing Paula herself became reluctant to hasten back to
Stancy Castle. Turning abruptly they made for Brussels

It was here, while walking homeward from the Park
one morning, that her uncle for the first time alluded
to the situation of affairs between herself and her
admirer. The captain had gone up the Rue Royale
with his sister and Mrs. Goodman, either to show them
the house in which the ball took place on the eve of
Quatre Bras or some other site of interest, and the
two Powers were thus left to themselves. To reach
their hotel they passed into a little street sloping steeply
down from the Rue Royale to the Place Ste. Gudule,
where, at the moment of nearing the cathedral, a
wedding party emerged from the porch and crossed
in front of uncle and niece.

hope,’ said the former, in his passionless way,
'we shall see a performance of this sort between you
and Captain De Stancy, not so very long after our
return to England.’

‘Why?* asked Paula, following the bride with her
eyes.

402

DE STANCY AND PAULA

‘It is diplomatically, as I may say, such a highly
correct thing — such an expedient thing — such an ol>
vious thing to all eyes.*

‘ Not altogether to mine, uncle,* she returned.

‘ *Twould be a thousand pities to let slip such a neat
offer of adjusting difficulties as accident makes you in
this. You could marry more tin, that’s true ; but you
don’t want it, Paula. You want a name, and historic
what-do-they-call-it. Now by coming to terms with the
captain you’ll be Lady De Stancy in a few years : and
a title which is useless to him, and a fortune and castle
which are in some degree useless to you, will make a
splendid whole useful to you both.’

‘ I’ve thought it over — quite,’ she answered. ‘ And
I quite usee what the advantages are. But how if I
don’t care one atom for artistic completeness and a
splendid whole; and do care very much to do what
my fancy inclines me to do ? ’

‘Then I should say that, taking a comprehensive
view of human nature of all colours, your fancy is about
the silliest fancy existing on this earthly ball.’

Paula laughed indifferently, and her uncle felt that,
persistent as was his nature, he was the wrong man to
influence her by argument. Paula’s blindness to the
advantages of the match, if she were blind, was that
of a woman who wouldn’t see, and the best argument
was silence.

This was in some measure proved the next morning.
When Paula* made her appearance Mrs. Goodman said,
holding up an envelope: ‘Here’s a letter from Mr.
Somerset.’

‘Dear me,’ said she blandly, though a quick little
flush ascended her cheek. ‘I had nearly forgotten
himl’

The letter on being read contained a request as
brief as it was unexpected. Having prepared all the
drawings necessary for the rebuilding, Somerset begged
403

A UODICEAN

leave to resign the superintendence of the work into
other hands.

‘ His letter caps your remarks very aptly,’ said Mrs.
Goodman, with secret triumph. ‘You are nearly for-
getting him, and he is quite fo^etting you.’

‘Yes,’ said Paula, affecting carelessness. Well, I
must get somebody else, I suppose.’

DB STANCy AND PAULA

X

They next deviated to Amiens, intending to stay
there only one night ; but their schemes were deranged
by the sudden illness of Charlotte. She had been
looking unwell for a fortnight past, though, with her
usual self-abnegation, she had made light of her ailment.
Even now she declared she could go on ; but this was
said over-night, and in the morning it was abundantly
evident that to move her was highly unadvisable. Still
she was not in serious danger, and having called in a
physician, who pronounced rest indispensable, they pre-
pared to remain in the old Picard capital two or three
additional days. Mr. Power thought he would take
advantage of the halt to run up to Paris, leaving De
Stancy in charge of the ladies

In more ways than in the illness of Charlotte this
day was the harbinger of a crisis.

It was a summer evening without a cloud Charlotte
had fallen asleep in her bed, and Paula, who had been
sitting Iqr her, looked out into the Place St Denis,
which the hotel commanded. The lawn of the square
was all ablase with red and yellow cfumps of flowers,
the acacia trees were brightly green, the sun was soft
and low. Tempted by the prospect Paula went and
put on her hat ; and arousing her aunt, who was nodding
in the next room, to request her to keep an ear on
40s

A LAODICEAN

Charlotte’s bedroom, Paula descended into the Rue de
Noyon alone, and entered the green enclosure.

While she walked round, two or three little children
in charge of a nurse trundled a large variegated ball
along the grass, and it rolled to Paula’s feet. She
smiled at them, and endeavoured to return it by a
slight kick. The ball rose in the air, and passing over
the back of a seat which stood under One of the trees,
alighted in the lap of a gentleman hitherto screened by
its boughs. The back and shoulders proved to be
those of De Stancy. He turned his head, jumped up,
and was at her side in an instant, a nettled flush having
meanwhile crossed Paula’s face.

‘ I thought you had gone to the Hotoie Promenade,’
she said hastily. * I am going to the cathedral ; ’ (obvi-
ously uttered lest it should seem that she had seen him
from the hotel windows, and entered the square for his
company).

* Of course : there is nothing else to go to here —
even for Roundheads.’

* If you mean me by that, you are very much mis-
taken,’ said she testily.

‘The Roundheads were your ancestors, and they
knocked down my ancestors’ castle, and 'broke the
stained glass and statuary of the cathedral,’ said De
Stancy slily; ‘and now you go not only to a cathedral,
but to a service of the unreformed Church in it.’

‘ In a foreign country it is different from home,’ said
Paula in e3Aenuation ; ‘ and you of all men should not re-
proach me for tergiversation — when it has been brought
about by — by my sympathies with ’

‘ With the troubles of the De Stancys.’

‘ Well, you know what I mean,’ she answered, with
considerable anxiety ^not to be misunderstood ; ‘ my
liking for the old castle, and what it contains, and
what it suggests. I declare I will not explain to you
further — why should I ? I am not answerable to you ! ’
406

DE STAJJCY AND PAULA

Paula's show of petulance was perhaps not wholly
because she had appeared to seek him, but also from
being reminded by his criticism that Mr. Woodwell's
prophecy on her weakly succumbing to surroundings
was slowly working out its fulfilment.

She moved forward towards the gate at the further
end of the square, beyond which the cathedral lay at
a very short distance. Paula did not turn her headj
and De Stancy strolled slowly after her down the Rue
du College. The day happened to be one of the
church festivals, and people were a second time flocking
into the lofty monument of Catholicism at its meridian.
Paula vanished into the porch with the rest; and,
almost catching the wicket as it flew back from her
hand, he too entered the high-shouldered edifice — an
edifice doomed to labour under the melancholy mis-
fortune of seeming only half as vast as it really is,
and as truly as whimsically described by Heine as a
monument built with the strength of Titans, and
decorated, with the patience of dwarfs.

De Stancy walked up the nave, so close beside her
as to touch her .-dress ; but she would not recognize
his presence; the darlmess that evening had thrown
over the interior, which was scarcely broken by the few
candles dotted about, being a sufficient excuse if she
required one.

‘ Miss Power,* De Stancy said at last, ‘ I am coming
to the service with you.’

She received the intelligence without surprise, and
he knew she had been conscious of him all the way.

Paula went no further than the middle of the nave,
where there was hardly a soul, and took a chair beside
a solitary rushlight which looked amid the vague gloom
of the inaccessible architecture like a lighthouse at the
foot of tall cliffs.

He put his hand on the next chair, saying, ‘ Do you
object ? ’

407

A LAODICEAN

* Not at all/ she replied ; and he sat down.

‘Suppose we go into the choir/ said De Stancy
presently. ‘Nobody sits out here in the shadows.*

‘This is sufficiently near, and we have a candle,
Paula murmured.

Before another minute had passed the candle flame
began to drown in its own grease, slowly dwindled, and
•went out.

‘I suppose that means 1 am to go into the choir
in spite of myself. Heaven is on your side,* said
Paula. And rising they left their now totally dark
corner, and joined the noiseless shadowy figures yrh&
in twos and threes kept passing up the nave.

Within the choir there was a blaze of light, partly
from the altar, and more particularly from the image of
the saint whom they had assembled to honour, which
stood, surrounded by candles and a thicket of flower-
ing plants, some way in advance of the foot-pace. A
secondary radiance from the same source was reflected
upward into their faces by the polished marble pave-
ment, except when interrupted by the shady forms of
the officiating priests.

When it was over and the people were moving dfF,
De Stancy and his companion went towards the saint,
now besieged by numbers of women anxious to claim
the respective flower-pots they had lent for the decora-
tion. As each struggled for her own, seized and
inarched off with it, Paula remarked — ‘This rather
spoils the solemn effect of what has gone before.*

‘ I perceive you are a harsh Puritan.*

‘ No, Captain De Stancy ! Why will you speak so ?
I am far too much otherwise. I have grown to be so
much of your w^y ’of thinking, that I accuse myself,
and am accused by others, of being worldly, and half-
and-half, and other dreadful things though it isn^t
that at 2 dl.* '

They were now walking down the nave, preceded by

408

DE STANCY AND PAULA

the sombre figures with the pot flowers, who were just
visible in the rays that reached them through the distant
choir screen at their back ; while above the gr^ night
sky and stars looked in upon them through the high
clerestory windows.

‘Do be a little more of my way of thinking!* re-
joined De Stancy passionately.

‘ Don’t, don't speak,* she said rapidly. * There are
Milly and Champreau ! •

Milly was one of the maids, and Champreau the
courier and valet who had been engaged by Abner
Power. They had been sitting behind the other pair
throughout the service, and indeed knew rather more
of the relations between Paula and De Stancy than
Paula knew herself

Hastening on the two latter went out, and walked
together silently up the short street. 1'he Place St.
Denis was now lit up, lights shone from the hotel
windows, and the world without the cathedral had so
far advanced in nocturnal change that it seemed as if
they had been gone from it for hours. Within the
hotel they found the change even greater than without.
Mrs, Goodman met them half-way on the stairs.

‘ Poor Charlotte is worse,* she said. ‘ Quite feverish,
and almost delirious ’

Paula reproached herself with ‘ Why did I go away ! *

The common interest of De Stancy and Paula in
the sufferer at once reproduced an ease between them
as nothing else could have done. The physician was
again called in, who prescribed certain draughts, and
recommended that some one should sit up with her
that night If Paula allowed demonstrations of love to
escape her towards anybody it was towards Charlotte,
and her instinct was at once to watch by the invalid’s
couch herself, at least for some hours, it being deemed
unneqessary to call in a regular nurse unless she should
sicken further.

409

A LAODICEAN

' But I will sit with her,' said De Stancy. ‘ Surely you
had better go to bed ? ’ Paula would not be persuaded ;
and thereupon De Stancy, saying he was going into the
town for a short time before retiring, left the room.

The last omnibus returned from the last train, and
the inmates of the hotel retired to rest. Meanwhile
a telegram had arrived for Captain De Stancy; but as
he had not yet returned it was put in his bedroom,
with directions to the night-porter to remind him of
its arrival.

Paula sat on with the sleeping Charlotte. Presently
she retired into the adjacent sitting-room with a book,
and flung herself on a couch, leaving the door open
between her and her charge, in case the latter should
awake. While she sat a new breathing seemed to
mingle with the regular sound of Charlotte's that reached
her through the doorway : she turned quickly, and saw
her uncle standing behind her.

* O — I thought you were in Paris I ' said Paula,

*I have just come from there — I could not stay.
Something has occurred to my mind about this affair.’
His strangely marked visage, now more noticeable from
being worn with fatigue, had a spectral effect by the
night-light.

‘ What affair ? ’

‘This marriage. . . . Paula, De Stancy is a good
fdlow enough, but you must not accept him just yet.’

Paula did not answer.

‘ Do you hear ? You must not accept him,’ repeated
her unde, ‘ till I have been to England and examined
into matters. I start in an hour’s time — by the ten-
minutes-past-two train.'

* This is something very new ! ’

‘Yes — ’tis new,^ he murmured, relapsing into his
Dutch manner. ‘ You must not accept him till some*
thing is made clear to me — something about a queer
relationship. I have come from Paris to say so.'

410

DE STANCY AND PAULA

‘Uncle, I don’t understand this. I am my own
mistress in all matters, and though I don’t mind telling
you I have by no means resolved to accept him, the
question of her marriage is especially a woman’s own
affair.’

Her uncle stood irresolute for a moment, as if his
convictions were more than his proofs. ‘I say no
more at present,’ he murmured. ‘ Can I do anything
for you about a new architect ? ’

‘ Appoint Havin’

‘Very well. Good night.’ And then he left her.
In a short time she heard him go down and out of the
house to cross to England by the morning steamboat.

With a little shrug, as if she resented his interference
in so delicate a point, she settled herself down anew to
her book.

One, two, three hours passed, when Charlotte awoke,
but soon slumbered sweetly again. Hilly had stayed up
for some time lest her mistress should require anything ;
but the girl being sleepy Paula sent her to bed.

It was a lovely night of early summer, and drawing
aside the window curtains she looked out upon the
flowers and trees of the Place, now quite visible, for
It was nearly three o’clock, and the morning light
was growing strong. She turned her face upwards.
Except in the case of one bedroom all the windows
on that side of the hotel Were in darkness. The room
being rather close she left the casement ajar, and
opening the door walked out upon the staircase
landing. A number of caged canaries were kept
here, and she observed in the dim light of the land-
ing lamp how snugly their heads were all tucked in.
On returning to the sitting-room again she could hear
that Charlotte was still slumbering, and this encourag-
ing circumstance disposed her to go to bed herself.
Before, however, she had made a move a gentle tap
came to the door.

A LAODICEAN

Paula opened it. There, in the faint light by the
sleeping canaries, stood Charlotte’s brother.

‘ How is she now ? ' he whispered.

< Sleeping soundly,’ said Paula.

‘That’s a blessing. 1 have not been to bed. I
came in late, and have now come down to know if 1
had not better take your place ? ’

‘ Nobody is required, I think. But you can judge
for yourself.’

Up to this point they had conversed in the doorway
of the sitting-room, which De Stancy now entered,
crossing it to Charlotte’s apartment. He came out
from the latter at a pensive pace.

‘She is doing well,’ he said gently. ‘You have
been very good to her. Was the chair I saw by her
bed the one you have been sitting in all night ? ’

‘ I sometimes sat there ; sometimes here.’

‘ I wish I could have sat beside you, and held your
hand — I speak frankly.’

* To excess.’

‘ And why not ? I do not wish to hide from you
any corner of my breast, futile as candour may be.
Just Heaven ! for what reason is it ordered that court-
ship, in which soldiers are usually so successful, should
be a failure with me ? ’

‘Your lack of foresight chiefly in indulging feel-
ings that were not encouraged. That, and my uncle’s
indiscreet permission to you to travel with us, have
precipitated our relations in a way that I could neither
foreseq nor avoid, though of late 1 have had appre-
hensions that it might come to this. You vex and
disturb me by such words of regret.’

‘Not more than you vex and disturb me. But
you cannot hate .the man who loves you so de-
votedly?’

*I have -aaid before I don’t hate you, I repeat
that I am interested in your family and its aisodationie

419

DE STANCY AND PAULA

because of its complete contrast with my own.’ She
might have added, ’And 1 am additionally interested
just now because my uncle has forbidden me to be.’

’But you don’t care enough for me personally to
save my happiness.’

Paula hesitated; from the moment De Stancy
confronted her she had felt that this nocturnal con-
versation was to be a grave business. The cathedral
clock struck three. ’ I have thought once or twice,’
she said with a naivete unusual in her, ’that if I
could be sure of giving peace and joy to your mind
by becoming your wife, I ought to endeavour to do so
and make the best of it — merely as a charity. But I
believe that feeling is a mistake: your discontent is
constitutional, and would go on just the same whether
1 accepted you or no. My refusal of you is purely an
imaginary grievance.’

’ Not if I think otherwise.’

’ O no,’ she murmured, with a sense that the place
was very lonely and silent. ’ If you think it otherwise,
I suppose it is otherwise.

’ My darling ; my Paula ! ’ he said, seizing her hand.

’ Do promise me something. You must indeed 1 ’

’Captain De Stancy!’ she said, trembling and
turning away. * Captain De Stancy 1 ’ She tried to
withdraw her fingers, then faced him, exclaiming in a
firm voice a third time, ’Captain De Stancy! let go
my hand ; for I tell you I will not marry you ! ’

’ Good God ! ’ he cried, dropping her hand. ‘ What
have I driven you to say in your anger ! Retract it —
0, retract it ! ’

’Don’t urge me further, as you value my good
opinion I ’

’ To lose you now, is to lose you for ever. Come,
please answer ! *

’I won’t be compelled!’ she interrupted with
vehemence. ’ I am resolved not to be yours — not to
4*3

A LAODICEAN

give you an answer to-night! Never, never will I be
reasoned out of my intention; and 1 say I won’t
answer you to-night 1 I should never have let you be
so much with me but for pity of you ; and now it is
come to this 1 '

She had sunk into a chair, and now leaned upon
her hand, and buried her face in her handkerchief.
He had never caused her any such agitation as this
before.

‘You stab me with your words,’ continued De
Stancy. ‘The experience I have had with you is
without parallel, Paula. It seems like a distracting
dream.’

‘ I won’t be hurried by anybody I ’

‘That may mean anything,’ he said, with a per-
plexed, passionate air. ‘Well, mine is a fallen family,
and we must abide caprices. Would to Heaven it were
extinguished 1 ’

‘ What was extinguished ? ’ she murmured.

* The De Stancys. Here am I, a homeless wanderer,
living on my pay ; in the next room lies she, my sister,
a poor little fragile feverish invalid with no social
position — and hardly a friend. We two represent the
De Stancy line; and I wish we were behind the iron
door of our old vault at Sleeping-Green. It can be
seen by looking at us and our circumstances that we
cry for the earth and oblivion I ’

* Captain De Stancy, it is not like that, I assure
you,’ sympathized Paula with damp eyelashes. ‘ I love
Charlotte too dearly for you to tdk like that, indeed.
I don’t want to marry you exactly ; and yet I cannot
bring myself to say I permanently reject you, because
I remember you are Charlotte’s brother, and do not
wish to be the ‘cause of any morbid feelings in you
which would ruin your future prospects.’

‘ My dear life, what is it you doubt in me ? Your
earnestness not to do me harm makes it all the
414

DE STANCY AND PAULA

harder fox me to think of never being more than a
friend.*

‘ Well, I h&ve not positively refused 1 * she exclaimed,
in mixed tones of pity and distress. ‘Let me think
it over a little while. It is not generous to urge so
strongly before I can collect my thoughts, and at this
midnight time ! *

‘ Darling, forgive it ! — There, 1*11 say no more.*

He then offered to sit up in her place for the re-
mainder of the night ; but Paula declined, assuring him
that she meant to stay only another half-hour, after
which nobody would be necessary.

He had already crossed the landing to ascend to his
room, when she stepped after him, and asked if he had
received his telegram.

‘ No,* said De Stancy. ‘ Nor have I heard of one.*

Paula explained that it was put in his room, that
he might see it the moment he came in.

‘ It matters very little,* he replied, ‘ since I 'shall see
it now. Good-night, dearest: good-night!* he added
tenderly.

She gravely shook her head. ‘ It is not for you to
express yourself like that,* she answered. ‘ Good-night,
Captain De Stancy.*

He went up the stairs to the second floor, and
Paula returned to the sitting-room. Having left a light
l)urning De Stancy proceeded to look for the telegram,
and found it on the carpet, where it had been swept
from the table. When he had opened the sheet a
sudden solemnity overspread his face. He sat down,
rested his elbow on the table, and his forehead on his
hands.

Captain De Stancy did not remain thus long. Rising
he went softly downstairs. The grey morning had by
this time crept into the hotel, rendering a light no
longer necessary. The old clock on the landing was
within a fe^ minutes of four, and the birds were

41S

A LAODICEAN

hopping up and down their cages, and whetting their
bills. He tapped at the sitting-room, and she came
instantly. *

‘But I told you it was not necessary — she
began.

‘ Yes, but the telegram,' he said hurriedly. * I wanted
to let you know first that — ^it is very serious. Paula —
my father is dead ! He died suddenly yesterday, and
I must go at once. . . . About Charlotte — and how to
let her know ’

‘ She must not be told yet,’ said Paula. ... * Sir
William dead I ’

‘You think we had better not tejl her just yet?’
said De Stancy anxiously. ‘That’s what I want to
consult you about, if you — don’t mind my intruding.*

‘ Certainly I don’t,’ she said.

They continued the discussion for some time ; and
it was decided that Charlotte should not be informed ot
what had happened till the doctor had been consulted,
Paula promising to account for her brother’s departure.

De Stancy then prepared to leave for England by
the ’first morning train, and roused the night-porter,
which functionary, having packed off Abner Power, was
discovered asleep on the sofa of the landlord’s parlour.
At half-past five Paula, who in the interim had been
pensively sitting with her hand to her chin, quite for-
getting that she had meant to go to bed, heard wheels
without, and looked from the window. A fly had been
brought round, and one of the hotd servants was in
the act of putting up a portmanteau with De Stancy’s
initials upon it. A minute afterwards the captain came
to her door.

‘ I thought you had not gone to bed^ after all’

‘I was anxious to see you off,’ said she, *^sincl^
neither of the others is awake; and you wished me not
to rouse them,’ «

‘Quite right, you are very good}* and. lowering his

416

DE STANCY AND PAULA

voice . ‘ Paula, it is a sad and solemn time with "me —
Will you grant me one word — not on our last «*ad
subject, but on the previous one — ^l}efore I part with
you to go and bury my father ? ’

‘ Certainly,’ she said, in gentle accents.

‘Then have you thought over my position? Will
you at last have pity upon my loneliness by becoming
my wife ? ’

Paula sighed deeply , and said, ‘ Yes.’

‘ Your hand upon it.’

She gave him her hand he held it a few moments,
then raised it to his lips, and was gone.

When Mrs. Goodman rose she was informed of Sir
William’s death, and of his son’s departure.

‘ Then the captain is now Sir William De Stancy ! ’
she exclaimed. ‘Really, Paula, since you would be
Lady Dc Stancy by marrying him, I almost think ’

* Hush, aunt ’ ’

‘ Well ; what are you wnting there ? ’

* Only entering in my diaiy that I accepted him this
morning for pity’s sake, in spite of Uncle Abner. They’ll
say it was for the title, but knowing it was not I don’t
care.’

A LAODICEAN

XI

On the evening of the fourth day after the parting
between Paula and De Stancy at Amiens, when it was
quite dark in the Markton highway, except in so far as
the shades were broken by the faint lights from the
adjacent town, a young man knocked softly at the door
of Myrtle Villa, and asked if Captain De Stancy had
arrived from abroad. He was answered in the affir-
mative, and in a few moments the captain himself came
from an adjoining room.

Seeing that his visitor was Dare, from whom, as
will be remembered, he had parted at Carlsruhe in no
very satisfied mood, De Stancy did not ask him into
the house, but putting on his hat went out with the
youth into the public road. Here they conversed as
they walked up and down, Dare beginning by alluding
to the death of Sir William, the suddenness of which he
feared would delay Captain De Stancy’s overtures for
the hand of Miss Power.

^No,’ said De Stancy moodily. *On the contrary,
it has precipitated matters.’

‘ She has accepted you, captain ? ’

* We are eng^ed to be married.’

‘ Well done ! I congratulate you.’ The speaker was
about to proceed to further triumphant notes on the
intelligence," when casting his eye upon the upper
418

DE STANCY AND PAULA

windows of the neighbouring villa, he appeared to reflect
on what was within them, and checking himself, ‘ When
is the funeral to be ? *

‘ To-morrow,* De Stancy replied. ‘ It would be ad-
visable for you not to come near me during the day.*

* I will not. I will be a mere spectator. The old
vault of our ancestors will be opened, I presume,
captain ? *

‘ It is opened.’

* I must see it — and ruminate on what we once were •

it is a thing I like doing. The ghosts of our dead

Ah, what was that ? *

‘ I heard nothing.’

‘ I thought I heard a footstep behind us.’

They stood still ; but the road appeared to be quite
deserted, and likely to continue so for the remainder of
that evening. I'hey walked on again, speaking in some-
what lower tones than before.

‘ Will the late Sir William’s death delay the wedding
much ? ’ asked the younger man curiously.

De Stancy languidly answered that he did not see
why it should do so. Some little time would of course
intervene, but, since there were several reasons for
despatch, he should urge Miss Power and her relatives
to consent to a virtually private wedding which might
take place at a very early date; and he thought there
would be a general consent on that point.

‘ There are indeed reasons for despatch. Your title,
Sir William, is a new safeguard over her heart, cer-
tainly ; but there is many a slip, and you must not lose
her now.’ A

‘ I don’t mean to lose her ! ’ sSd De Stancy, • She
is^too good to be lost. And yet — since she gave her
promise I have felt more than once that 1 would not
engage in such a struggle again. It was not a thing of
my l^hning, though I was easily enough inflamed to
follow. But I will not lose her now.— For God’s sake,
419

A LAODICEAN

keep that secret you have so foolishly pricked on
your breast. It fills me with remorse to think what
she with her scrupulous notions will feel, should she
ever know of you and your history, and your relation
to me ! ’

Dare made no reply till after a silence, when he
said, ‘Of course mum’s the word till the wedding
is over.’

‘ And afterwards — promise that for her sake ? ’

‘ And probably afterwards.’

Sir William De Stancy drew a dejected breath at the
tone of the answer. They conversed but a little while
longer, the captain hinting to Dare that it was time for
them to part; not, however, before he had uttered a
hope that the young man would turn over a new leaf
and engage in some regular pursuit. Promising to call
upon him at his lodgings De Stancy went indoors, and
Dare briskly retraced his steps to MarktoU.

When his footfall had died away, and the door of
the house opposite had been closed, another man
appeared upon the scene. lie came gently out of
the hedge opposite Myrtle Villa, which he paused to
regard for a moment. But instead of going townward,
he turned his back upon the distant sprinkle of lights,
and did not check his walk till he reached the lodge of
Stancy Castle.

Here he pulled the wooden acorn Ixjside the arch,
and when the porter appeared his light revealed the
pedestrian’s countenance to be scathed, as by lightning.

* I beg your pardon, Mr. Power,’ said the porter with
sudden deference as he opened the wicket. ‘But we
wasn’t expecting anytx)dy to-night, as there is nobody
at home, and the servants on board wages ; and that’s
why I was so long'a-coming.’

‘No matter, no matter,’ said Abner Powey. ‘I
have returned on sudden business, and have liot come ^
to stay longer than to-night, Your mistress is not
420

DE STANCY AND PAULA

with me. I meg.nt to sleep in Markton, but have
changed my mind.'

Mr. Power had brought no luggage with him beyond
a small hand-bag, and as soon as a room could be got
ready he retired to bed

The next morning he passed in idly walking about
the grounds and observing the progress which had
l^een made in the works — now temporarily suspended.
But that inspection was less his object in remaining
there than meditation, was abundantly evident. When
the bell began to toll from the neighbouring church to
announce the burial of Sir William De Stancy, he passed
through the castle, and went on foot in the direction
indicated by the sound. Reaching the margin of the
churchyard he looked over the wall, his presence being
masked by bushes and a group of idlers from Mark-
ton who stood in front. Soon a funeral procession
of simple — almost meagre and threadbare — character
arrived, but Power did not join the people wlii||
followed the deceased into the church. De Stanw
was the chief mourner and only relation present, tw
other followers of the broken-down old man being an
ancient lawyer, a couple of faithful servants, and a
bowed villager who had been page to the late Sir
William's father — the sihgle living person left in the
parish who remembered tlie De Stancys as people
of wealth and influence, and who firmly believed that
family would come into its rights ere long, and oust
the uncircumcized Philistines who had taken possession
of the old lands.

I'he funeral was over, and the rusty carriages had
gone, together with many of the spectators ; but Power
lingered in the churchyard as if he were looking for
some one. At length he entered the church, padsing
by the cavernous pitfiall with descending steps which"
stood open outside the wall of the De Stancy aisle.
Arrived within he scannM the few idlers of antiquariat^
421

A LAODICEAN

tastes who had remained after the service to inspect
the monuments; and beside a recumbent effigy — the
effigy in alabaster whose features Paula had wiped
with her handkerchief when there with Somerset — he
beheld the man it had been his business to find.
Abner Power went up and touched this person, who
was Dare, on the shoulder.

‘ Mr. Power — so it is ! ’ said the youth. ‘ I have not
seen you since we met in Carlsruhe.’

‘ You shall see all the more of me now to make up
for it. Shall we walk round the church ? *

‘ With all my heart,’ said Dare.

They walked round ; and Abner Power began in a
sardonic recitative : ' I am a traveller, and it takes a
good deal to astonish me. So I neither swooned nor
screamed when I learnt a few hours ago what I had
suspected for a week, that you are of the house and
lineage of Jacob.’ He flung a nod towards the canopied
tombs as he spoke. — ‘ In other words, that you are of
the same breed as the De Stancys.’

Dare cursorily glanced round. Nobody was near
enough to hear their words, the nearest persons being
two workmen just outside, who were fringing their
tools up from the vault preparatively to closing it.

Having observed this Dare replied, ‘I, too, am a
traveller; and neither do I swoon nor scream at what
you say. But I assure you that if you busy yourself
about me, you may truly be said to busy yourself
about nothing.’

* Well, that’s a matter of opinion. Now, there’s no
scarlet left in my face to blush for men’s follies ; but as
an alliance is afoot between my niece and the present
Sir William, this must be looked into.’

Dare reflectively said *0,’ as he observed through
the window one of the workmen bring up a candle from
the vault and extinguish it with his fingers. ^

‘The marriage is desirable, and your relationship
422

DE STANCY AND PAULA

in itself is of no consequence/ continued the elder;
‘but just look at this. You have forced on the
marriage by unscrupulous means, your object being
only too clearly to live out of the proceeds of that
marriage.'

* Mr. Power, you mock me, l)ecause I labour under
the misfortune of having an illegitimate father to provide
for. I really deserve commiseration.*

‘ You might deserve it if that were all. But it looks
bad for my niece’s happiness as Lady Do Stancy, that
she and her husband are to be perpetually haunted by
a young chevalier d industries who can forge a telegram
on occasion, and libel an innocent man by an ingenious
device in photography. It looks so Ijad, in short,
that, advantageous as a title and old family name
would l^e to her and her children, I won’t let my
brother’s daughter run the risk of having them at the
expense of being in the grip of a man like you.
There are other suitors in the world, and other titles :
and she is a beautiful woman, who can well afford to
be fastidious. I shall let her know at once of these
things, and break off the business — unless you do
one thing'

A workman brought up another candle from the
vault, and prepared to let down the slab. ‘Well, Mr.
Power, and what is that one thing ? ’

‘Go to Peru as my agent in a business I have just
undertaken there.’

‘ And settle there ? ’

‘ Of course. I am soon going over myself, and ^11
bring you anything you require.*

‘How long will you give me to consider?’ said
Dare.

Power looked at his watch. ‘One, two, three,
four hours,* he said. ‘ I leave Markton by the seven
o*/:lock train this evening.*

‘ And if I m^t your proposal with a negative ? *

423

A LAODICEAN

‘ I shall go at once to my niece and tell her the whole
circumstances — tell her' that, by marrying Sir William,
she allies herself with an unhappy gentleman in the
power of a criminal son who mates his life a burden to
him by perpetual demands upon his purse; who will
increase those demands with his accession to wealth,
threaten to degrade her by exposing her husband^s
antecedents if she opposes his extortions, and who will
make her miserable by letting her know that her old
lover was shamefully victimized by a youth she is
bound to screen out of respect to her husband’s feel-
ings. Now a man does not care to let his own flesh
and blood incur the danger of such anguish as that, and
I shall do what I say to prevent it. Knowing what a
lukewarm sentiment hers is for Sir William at best, I
shall not have much difficulty.’

‘ Well, I don’t feel inclined to go to Peru.’

* Neither do I want to break off the match, though I
am ready to do it. But you care about your personal
freedom, and you might be made to wear the broad
arrow for your tricks on Somerset.’

‘ Mr. Power, I see your are a hard man.’

‘ I am a hard man. You will find me one. Well,
will you go to Peru? Or I don’t mill'd Australia or
California as alternatives. As long as you choose to
remain in either of those wealth-producing places, so
long will Cunningham Haze go uninformed.’

* Mr. Power, I am overcome. Will you allow me to
sit down ? Suppose we go into the vestry. It is more
comfortable.’

They entered the vestry, and seated themselves in
two chairs, one at each end of the table.

*In the meantime,* continued Dare, < to lend a little
romance to stern^ realities. I’ll tell you a singular dream
I had just before you returned to England,* Power
looked contemptuous, but Dare went on: dreamt

that once upon a time there were two brothers, born b#
424

DE STANCY AND PAULA

a Nonconformist family, one of whom became a railway-
contractor, and the other a mechanical engineer.'

‘A mechanical engineer — good/ said Power, be-
ginning to attend.

‘ When the first went abroad in his profession, and
became engaged on continental railways, the second, a
younger man, looking round for a start, also betook
himself to the continent But though ingenious and
scientific, he had not the business capacity of the
elder, whose rebukes led to a sharp quarrel between
them; and they parted in bitter estrangement — never
to meet again as it turned out, owing to the dogged
obstinacy and self-will of the younger man. He, after
this, seemed to lose his moral ballast altogether, and
after some eccentric doings he was reduced to a state
of poverty, and took lodgings in a court in a back street
of a town we will call Geneva, considerably in doubt
as to what steps he should take to keep body and soul
together.'

Abner Power was shooting a narrow ray of eyesight
at Dare from the corner of his nearly closed lids. ‘ Your
dream is so interesting,' he said, with a hard smile,

‘ that I could listen to it all day.'

‘ Excellent I ' said Dare, and went on : ‘ Now it so
happened that the house opposite to the one taken by
the mechanician was peculiar It was a tall narrow
building, wholly unornamented, the walls covered with
a layer of white plaster cracked and soiled by time. I
seem to see that house now 1 Six stone steps led up
to the door, with a rusty iron railing on each side, and
under these steps were others which went down to a
cellar —in my dream of course.*

‘Of course — in your dream,' said Power, nodding
comprehensively.

‘ Sitting lonely and apathetic without a light, at his
own chamber-window at night time, our mechanician
frequently observed dark figures descending these steps,^
4*5

A LAODICEAN

and ultimately discovered that the house was the meet-
ing-place of a fraternity of political philosophers, whose
object was the extermination of tyrants and despots,
and the overthrow of established religions. The dis-
covery was startling enough, but our hero was not easily
startled. He kept their secret and lived on as before.
At last the mechanician and his affairs became known
to the society, as the affairs of the society had become
known to the mechanician, and, instead of shooting
him as one who knew too much for their safety, they
were struck with his faculty lor silence, and thought
they might be able to make use of him.*

‘ To be sure,* said Abner Power.

‘ Next, like friend Bunyan, I saw in my dream that
denunciation was the breath of life to this society. At
an earlier date in its history, objectionable persons in
power had been from time to time murdered, and
curiously enough numbered; that is, upon the body of
each was set a mark or seal, announcing that he was
one of a series. But at this time the question before
the society related to the substitution for the dagger,
which was vetoed as obsolete, of some explosive machine
that would be both more effectual and less difficult to
manage; and in short, a large reward was offered to
our needy Englishman if he would put their ideas of
such a machine into shape.*

Abner Power nodded again, his complexion being
peculiar — which might partly have been accounted for
by the reflection of window-light from the green-baize
table-cloth.

‘ He agreed, though no politician whatever himself,
to exerdse his wits on their account, and brought his
machine to such a pitch of perfection, that it was the
identical one useci in the memorable attempt — ' (Dare
whispered the remainder of the sentence in tones so
low that not a mouse in the comer could have heard,)
* Well, the inventor of that explosive has naturally been
426

DE STANCY AND PAULA

wanted ever since by all the heads of police in Europe.
But the most curious — or perhaps the most natural —
part of my story is, that our hero, after the catastrophe,
gr^ disgusted with himself and his comrades, acquired,
in a fit of revulsion, quite a conservative taste in politics,
which was strengthened greatly by the news he indirectly
received of the great wealth and respectability of his
brother, who had had no communion with him for years,
and supposed him dead. He abjured his employers
and resolved to abandon them ; but before coming to
England he decided to destroy all trace of his com-
bustible inventions by dropping them into the neighbour-
ing lake at night from a boat. You feel the room close,
Mr. Power? ’

‘ No, I suffer from attacks of perspiration whenever
I sit in a consecrated edifice — that^s all. Pray go on.'

* In carrying out this project, an explosion occurred,
just as he was throwing the stock overboard : it blew
up into his face, wounding him severely, and nearly
depriving him of sight. The boat was upset, but he
swam ashore in the darkness, and remained hidden till
he recovered, though the scars produced by the burns
had ^been set on him for ever. This accident, which
was such a misfortune to him as a man, was an advantage
to him as a conspirators’ engineer retiring from practice,
and afforded him a disguise both from his own brother-
hood and from the police, which he has considered
impenetrable, but which is getting seen through by one
or two keen eyes as time goes on. Instead of coming
to England just then, he went to Peru, connected
himself with the guano trade, I believe, and after his
brother’s death revisited England, his old life obliterated
as far as practicable by his new principles. He is
known only as a great traveller to his surviving relatives,
though he seldom says where he has travelled. Un-
luckily for himself, he is wanted by certain European
governments as badly as ever.’

427

A LAODICEAN

Dare raised his eyes as ^he concluded his narration.
As has been remarked, he was sitting at one end of the
vestry-table, Power at the other, the green cloth stretching
between them. On the edge of the table adjoining Mr.
Power a shining nozzle of metal was quietly resting, like
a dog’s nose. It was directed point-blank at the young
man.

Dare started. ‘ Ah — a revolver ? ’ he said.

Mr. Power nodded placidly, his hand still grasping
the pistol behind the edge of the table. ‘ As a traveller
I always carry one of ’em,’ he returned ; ‘ and for the
last five minutes I have been closely considering whether
your numerous brains are worth blowing out or no.
The vault yonder has suggested itself as convenient
and snug for one of the same family ; but the mental
problem that stays my hand is, how am I to despatch
and bury you there without the workmen seeing?*

‘’Tis a strange problem, certainly,* replied Dare,
* and one on which I fear I could not give disinterested
advice. Moreover, while you, as a traveller, always
carry a weapon of defence, as a traveller so do I. And
for the last three-quarters of an hour I have been
thinking concerning you, an intensified form of what
you have been thinking of me, but without any con-
cern as to your interment. See here for a proof of it.*
And a second steel nose rested on the edge of the
table opposite to the first, steadied by Dare’s right
hand.

They remained for some time motionless, the tick of
the tower clock distinctly audible.

Mr. Power spoke first,

* Well, ^twoold be a pity to make a mess here under
such dubious cptflmstances. Mr. Dare, I perceive that
a mean vagabond can be as sharp as a political regen-
erator. I cry quits, if you care to do the same ? ’

Dare assent^, and the pistols were put away.

‘Then we do nothing at all, either side; but let the
438

DE STANCY AND PAULA

course of true love run on to marriage — that’s the
understanding, I think ? ’ said Dare as he rose.

* It is,’ said Power ; and turning on his heel, he left
the vestry.

Dare retired to the church and thence to the out-
side, where he idled away a few minutes in looking at
the workmen, who were now lowering into its place
a large stone slab, bearing the words ‘De Stancy,’
which covered the entrance to the vault. When the
footway of the churchyard was restored to its normal
condition Dare pursued his way to Markton.

Abner Power walked back to the castle at a slow
and equal pace, as though he carried an over-brimming
vessel on his head. He silently let himself in, entered
the long gallery, and sat down. The length of time
that he sat there was so remarkable as to raise that
interval of inanition to the rank of a feat.

Power’s eyes glanced through one of the window-
casements: from a hole without he saw the head of
a tomtit protruding. He listlessly watched the bird
during the successive epochs of his thought, till night
came, without any perceptible change occurring in him.
Such fixity would have meant nothing else than sudden
death in any other man, but in Mr. Power it merely
signified that he W'as engaged in ruminations which
necessitated a more extensive survey than usual. At
last, at half-past eight, after having sat for five hours
with his eyes on the residence of the tomtits, to
whom night had brought cessation of thought, if not
to him who had observed them, he rose amid the
shades of the furniture, and rang the bell. There were
only a servant or two in the castle, one of whom pre-
sently came with a light in her hand and a startled
look upon her face, which was not reduced when
she recognized him ; for in the opinion of that house-
hold there was /something ghoul-like in Mr. IJower,
which made him no desirable guest.

429

A LAODICEAN

He ate a late meal, and retired to bed, where he
seemed to sleep not unsoundly. The next morning
he received a letter which afforded him infinite satis-
faction and gave his stagnant impulses a new mo-
mentum. He entered the library, and amid objects
swathed in brown holland sat down and wrote a
note to his niece at Amiens. Therein he stated that,
finding that the Anglo -South- American house with
which he had recently connected himself required his
presence in Peru, it obliged him to leave without
waiting for her return. He felt the less uneasy at
going, since he had learnt that Captain De Stancy
would return at once to .\miens to his sick sister,
and see them safely home iihen she improved. He
afterwards left the castle, disappearing towards a
railway station some miles above Markton, the road
to which Lay across an unfrequented down.

DE STANCY AND PAULA

XII

It was a fine afternoon of late summer, nearly three
months subsequent to the death of Sir William De
Stancy and Paula's engagement to marry his successor
in the title. George Somerset had started on a profes-
sional journey that took him through the charming dis-
trict which lay around Stancy Castle. Having resigned
his appointment as architect to that important structure
— a resignation which had been accepted by Paula
through her solicitor — he had bidden farewell to the
locality after putting matters in sucJi order that his
successor, whoever he might be, should have no diffi-
culty in obtaining the particulars necessary to the com-
pletion of the work in hand. Hardly to his surprise
this successor was Havill.

Somerset's resignation had been tendered in no
hasty mood. On returning to England, and in due
course to the castle, everything bore in upon his mind
the exceeding sorrowfulness — he would not say humilia-
tion— of continuing to act in his former capacity for a
woman who, from seeming more than a dear friend, had
become less than an acquaintance.

So he resigned ; but now, as the train drew on into
that once Ixiloved tract of country, the images which
met his eye threw him back in point of emotion to
very near where he had been before making himself a
‘ 43 ^

A LAODICEAN

Stranger here. The train entered the cutting on wihose
brink he had walked when the carriage containing Pi^iula
and her friends surprised him the previous summser.
He looked out of the window : they were passing t he
well-known curve that led up to the tunnel construetced
by her father, into which he had gone when the trai^n
came by and Paula had been alarmed for his lifcii.
There was the path they had both climbed afterwardsi,
involuntarily seizing each other^s hand ; the bushes, the
grass, the flowers, everything just the same :

‘ Here was the pleasant place,

And nothing wanting was, save She, alas ! ’

When they came out of the tunnel at the other end
he caught a glimpse of the distant castle-keep, and
the well-remembered walls beneath it. The experience
so far transcended the intensity of what is called
mournful pleasure as to make him wonder how he could
have miscalculated himself to the extent of supposing
that he might pass the spot witli controllable emotion.

On entering Markton station he withdrew into a
remote corner of the carriage, and closed, his eyes with
a resolve not to open them till the embittering scenes
should be passed by. He had not long to wait for
this event. When again in motion his eye fell upon
the skirt of a lady’s dress opposite, the owner of which
had entered and seated herself so softly as not to
attract his attention.

‘ Ah indeed ! ’ he exclaimed as he looked up to her
face. * I had not a notion that it was you 1 ’ He went
over and shook hands with Charlotte De Stancy.

' I am not going iar,’ she said ; * only to the next
station. We often run down in summer time. Are
you going far ? *

' I am going to a building further on ; thence to Nor
mandy by way of Cherbourg, to finish out my holiday.’
43«

DE STANCY AND PAULA

Miss De Stancy thought that would be very nice.

* Well, I hope so. But I fear it won’t.*

After saying that Somerset asked himself why he
should mince matters with so genuine and sympathetic
a girl as Charlotte De Stancy? She could tell him
particulars which he burned to know. He might never
again have an opportunity of knowing them, since she
and he would probably not meet for years to come,
if at all.

‘Have the castle works progressed pretty rapidly
under the new architect ? ’ he accordingly asked.

* Yes,’ said Charlotte in her haste — then adding that
she was not quite sure if they had progressed so rapidly
as before; blushingly correcting herself at this point
and that, in the tinkering manner of a nervous organiza-
tion aiming at nicety where it was not required.

‘ Well, I should have liked to carry out the under-
taking to its end,’ said Somerset. ‘ But I felt I could
not consistently do so. Miss Power — ’ (here a lump
came into Somerset’s throat — so responsive was he yet
to her image) — ‘ seemed to have lost confidence in me,
and — it was best that the connection should be severed.’

There ^vas a long pause. ‘ She was very sorry about
it,’ .said Charlotte gently.

‘What made her alter so? — I never can think ! ’

Charlotte waited again as if to accumulate the
necessary force for honest speaking at the expense of
pleasantness. ‘It was the telegram that began it of
course,* she answered.

‘ Telegram ? ’

She looked up at him in quite a frightened way —
little as there was to be frightened at in a quiet fellow
like him in this sad time of his life — and said, ‘ Yes :
some tdegram — I think — when you were in trouble?
Forgive my alluding to it; but you asked me the
question.’

Somerset began reflecting on what messages he had

433 2 B

A LAODICEAN

sent Paula, troublous or otherwise. All he had^fent
had been sent from the castle, and were as gentle and
mellifluous as sentences well could be which had neither
articles nor pronouns. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘ Will you explain a little more — as plainly as you like
— without minding my feelings ? ’

* A tel^ram from Nice, I think > ’

‘ I never sent one.’

‘ O ! The one I meant was about money.’

Somerset shook his head. ‘ No,’ he murmured, with
the composure of a man who, knowing he had done
nothing of the sort himself, was blinded by his own
honesty to the possibility that another might have done
it for him. ‘That must be some other affair with
which I had nothing to do. O no, it was nothing
like that; the reason for her change of manner was
quite different 1 ’

So timid was Charlotte in Somerset’s presence, that
her timidity at this juncture amounted to blameworthi-
ness. The distressing scene which must have followed
a clearing up there and then of any possible misunder-
standing, terrified her imagination; and quite con-
founded by contradictions that she could not reconcile,
she held her tongue, and nervously looked out of the
window.

‘ I have heard that Miss Power is soon to be married,’
continued Somerset.

‘Yes,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘It is sooner than it
ought to be by rights, considering how recently my dear
father died; but there are reasons in connection with
my brother’s position against putting it off : and it is
to be absolutely simple and private.*

There was another interval. ‘ May I ask when it is
to be?’ he said.

‘ Almost at OACe — this week.’

Somerset «tar^ back as if some stone had hit his^
face.

434

DE STANCY AND PAULA

""still there was nothing wonderful in such prompti-
tude : engagements broken in upon by the death of a
near relative of one of the parties had been often carried
out in a subdued form with no longer delay.

Charlotte’s station was now at ^nd. She bade him
farewell ; and he rattled on to the building he had come
to inspect, and next to Budmouth, whence he intended
to cross the Cliannel by ^teamboat that night.

He hardly knew how the evening passed away. He
had taken up his quarters at an inn near the quay,
and as the night drew on he stood gazing from the
coffee-room window at the steamer outside, which nearly
thrust its spars through the bedroom casements, and at
the goods that were being tumbled on board as only
shippers can tumble them. All the goods were laden^
a lamp was put on each side the gangway, the engines
broke into a crackling roar, and people began to enter.
They were only waiting for the last train: then they
would be off. Still Somerset did not move; he was
thinking of that curious half-told story of Charlotte’s,
about a telegram to Paula for money from Nice. Not
once till within the last half-hour had it recurred to
his mind that he had met Dare both at Nice and at
Monte Carlo; that at the latter place he had been
absolutely out of money and wished to borrow, showing
considerable sinister feeling when Somerset declined to
lend: that on one or two previous occasions he had
reasons for doubting Dare’s probity ; and that in spite
of the young man’s impovexishment at Monte Carlo he
had, a few days later, beheld him in shining raiment at
Carlsruhe. Somerset, though misty in his conjectures,
was seized with a growing conviction that there was
something in Miss De Stancy’s allusion to the telquram
which ought to be explained.

He felt an insurmountable objection to cross the
'Water that night, or till he had been able to see Char-
lotte again, and learn more of her ' meaning. He
435

A LAODICEAN

countermanded the order to put his luggage on board,
watched the steamer out of the harbour, and went to
bed. He might as well have gone to battle, for any
rest that he got. On rising the next morning he felt
rather blank, though none the less convinced that a
matter required investigation. He left Budmouth by
a morning train, and about eleven o’clock found himself
in Markton.

The momentum of a practical inquiry took him
through that ancient borough without leaving him
much leisure for those reveries which had yesterday
lent an unutterable sadness to every object there. It
was just before noon that he started for the castle,
intending to arrive at a time of the morning when, as
he knew from experience, he could speak to Charlotte
without difficulty. The rising ground soon revealed the
old towers to ffim, and, jutting out behind them, the
scaffoldings for the new wing.

While halting here on the knoll in some doubt
about his movements he beheld a man coming along
the road, and was soon confronted by his former com-
petitor, Havill. The first instinct of each was to pass
with a nod, but a second instinct for intercourse was
sufficient to bring them to a halt. After a few super-
ficial words had been spoken Somerset said, ‘ You have
succeeded me.’

‘ I have,’ said Havill ; ‘ but little to my advantage.
I have just heard that my commission is to extend no
further than roofing in the wing that you began, and
had I known that before, I would have seen the castle
fall flat as Jericho before I would have accepted the
superintendence. But I know who I have to thank
for that — De Stancy.’

Somerset still looked towards the distant battle-
ments. On the scaffolding, among the white-jacketed
workmen, he could discern one figure in a dark suit.

* You have a clerk of the works, I see,’ he observed.

436

DE STANCY AND PAULA

‘ Nominally I have, but practically I haven't.'

* Then why. do you keep him ?

‘ I can't help myself. He is Mr. Dare ; and having
been recommended by a higher power than I, there
he must stay in spite of me.'

‘ Who recommended him ? '

‘ The same — De Stancy.'

‘It is very odd,* murmured Somerset, ‘but that
young man is the object of my visit.'

‘ You had better leave him alone,* said Havill drily.

Somerset asked why.

‘Since I call no man master over that way I will
inform you.' Havill then related in splenetic tones,
to which Somerset did not care to listen till the story
began to advance itself, how he had passed the night
with Dare at the inn, and the incidents of that night,
relating how he had seen some letters on the young
man's breast which long had puzzled him. ‘They
were an E, a T, an N, and a C. I thought over them
long, till it eventually occurred to me that the word
when filled out was “De Stancy," and that kinship
explains the offensive and defensive alliance between
them.'

‘ But, good heavens, man ! ' said Somerset, more
and more disturbed. ‘ Does she know of it ? '

‘You may depend she does not yet; but she will
soon enough. Hark — there it is ! ' The notes of the
castle clock were heard striking noon. ‘Then it is
all over.'

‘ What ? — not their marriage ! '

‘Yes. Didn't you know it was the wedding day?
They were to be at the church at half-past eleven, I
should have waited to see her go, but it was no sight
to hinder business for, as she was only going to drive
over in her brougham with Miss De Stancy.'

‘My errand has failed!' said Somerset, turning on
his heel. ‘ I'll walk back to the town with you.'

437

A LAODICEAN

However he did not walk far with Havill; society
was too much at that moment. As soon as oppor-
tunity offered he branched from the road by a path,
and avoiding the town went by railway to Budmouth,
whence he resumed, by the night steamer, his journey
to Normandy

DE STANCY AND PAULA

XIII

To return to Charlotte De Stancy. When the train
had borne Somerset from her side, and she had regained
her self-possession, she became conscious of the true
proportions of the fact he had asserted. And, further,
if the telegram had not been his, why should the photo-
graphic distortion be trusted as a phase of his exist-
ence? But after a while it seemed so improbable to
her that God’s sun should bear false witness, that
instead of doubting both evidences she was inclined
to readmit the first. Still, upon the whole, she could
not question for long the honesty of Somerset’s denial :
and if that message liad indeed been sent by him, it
must have been done while he was in another such
an unhappy state as that exemplified by the portrait.
The supposition reconciled all differences ; and yet she
could not but fight against it with all the strength of a
generous affection.

All the afternoon her poor little head was busy on
this perturbing question, till she inquired of herself
whether after all it might not be possible for photographs
to represent people as they had never been. Beforq,
rejecting the hypothesis she determined to have the word
of a professor on the point, which would be better than
all her surmises. Returning to Markton early, she told
the coachman whom Paula had sent, to drive her to the
439

A LAODICEAN

shop of Mr. Ray, an obscure photographic artist in that
town, instead of straight home.

Ray’s establishment consisted of two divisions, the
respectable and the shabby. If, on entering the door,
the visitor turned to the left, he found himself in a
magazine of old clothes, old furniture, china, umbrellas,
guns, fishing-rods, dirty fiddles, and split flutes. Enter-
ing the right-hand room, which had originally been that
of an independent house, he was in an ordinary photo-
grapher’s and print-collector’s depository, to which a
certain artistic solidity was imparted by a few oil paint-
ings in the background. Charlotte made for the latter
department, and when she was inside Mr. Ray appeared
in person from the lumber-shop adjoining, which, despite
its manginess, contributed by far the greater share to his
income.

Charlotte put her question simply enough. The
man did not answer her directly, but soon found that
she meant no harm to him. He told her that such
misrepresentations were quite possible, and that they
embodied a form of humour which was getting more
and more into vogue among certain facetious persons
of society.

Charlotte was coming away when she asked, as on *
second thoughts, if he had any specimens of such work
to show her.

* None of my own preparation,’ said Mr. Ray, with
unimpeachable probity of tone. ‘ I consider them
libellous myself. Still, I have one or two samples by
me, which I keep merely as curiosities, — ^There’s one,’
he said, throwing out a portrait card from a drawer.
‘That represents the German Emperor in a violent
passion : this one 'shows the Prime Minister out of his
mind ; this the Pope of Rome the worse for liquor.’

She inquired if he had any local specimens.

‘ Yes,’ he said, * but T prefer not to exhibit them unless
you really ask for a particular one that you mean to buy ’
440

DE STANCY AND PAULA

‘ I don’t want any.’

‘ O, I beg pardon, miss. Well, I shouldn’t myself
have known such things were produced, if there had
not been a young man here at one time who was very
ingenious in these matters — a Mr. Dare. He was quite
a gent, and only did it as an amusement, and not for
the sake of getting a living.’

Charlotte had no wish to hear more. On her way
home she burst into tears : the entanglement was alto-
gether too much for her to tear asunder, even had not
her own instincts been urging her two ways, as they
were.

To immediately right Somerset’s wrong was her
impetuous desire as an honest woman who loved him ;
but such rectification would be the jeopardizing of all
else that gratified her — the marriage of her brother with
her dearest friend — now on the very point of accom-
plishment. It was a marriage which seemed to promise
happiness, or at least comfort, if the old flutter that had
transiently disturbed Paula’s bosom could be kept from
reviving, to which end it became imperative to hide
from her the discovery of injustice to Somerset. It in-
volved the advantage of leaving Somerset free; and
though her own tender interest in him had been too well
schooled by habitual self-denial to run ahead on vain
personal hopes, there was nothing more than human in
her feeling pleasure in prolonging Somerset’s singleness.
Paula might even be allowed to discover his wrongs
when her marriage had put him out of her power. But
to let her discover his ill-treatment now might upset the
impending union of the families, and wring her own
heart with the sight of Somerset married in her brother’s
place.

Why Dare, or any other person, should have set
himself to advance her brother’s cause such unscrupu-
lous blackening of Somerset’s character was more than
her sagacity could fathom. Her brother was, as far as
441

A LAODICEAN

she could see, the only man who could directly profit by
the machination, and was therefore the natural one to
suspect of having set it going. But she would not be
so disloyal as to entertain the thought long ; and who
or what had instigated Dare, who was undoubtedly the
proximate cause of the mischief, remained to her an
inscrutable mystery.

The contention of interests and desires with honour
in her heart shook Charlotte all that night ; but good
principle prevailed. The wedding was to be solemnized
the very next morning, though for before-mentioned
reasons this was hardly known outside the two houses
interested ; and there were no visible preparations either
at villa or castle. De Stancy and his groomsman — a
brother officer — slept at the former residence.

Dc Stancy was a sorry specimen of a bridegroom
when he met his sister in the morning. Thick-coming
fancies, for which there was more than good reason, had
disturbed him only too successfully, and he was as full
of apprehension as one who has a league with Mephisto-
pheles. Charlotte told him nothing of what made her
likewise so wan and anxious, but drove off tp the castle,
as had been planned, about nine o’clock, leaving her
brother and his friend at the breakfast-table.

That clearing Somerset’s reputation from the stain
which had been thrown on it would, cause a sufficient
reaction in Paula’s mind to dislocate present arrange-
ments she did not so seriously anticipate, now that
morning had a little calmed her. Since the rupture
with her former architect Paula had sedulously kept her
own counsel, but Charlotte assumed, from the ease with
which she seemed to do it that her feelings towards him
had never been inconveniently warm; and she hoped
that Paula would learn of Somerset’s purity with merely
the generous pleasure of a friend, coupled with a friend’s
indignation against his traducer.

Still, the possibnlity existed of stronger emotions, and

44a

DE STANCY AND PAULA

it was only too evident to poor Charlotte that, knowing
this, she had still less excuse for delaying the intelligence
till the strongest emotion would be purposeless.

On approaching the castle the first object that caught
her eye was Dare, standing beside Havill on the scaffold-
ing of the new wing. He was looking down upon the
drive and court, as if in anticipation of the event. His
contiguity flurried her, and instead of going straight to
Paula she sought out Mrs. Goodman.

* You are come early ; that's right ! ' said the latter.

‘ You might as well have slept here last night. We have
only Mr. Wardlaw, the London lawyer you have heard
of, in the house. Your brother's solicitor was here
yesterday; but he returned to Markton for the night.
We miss Mr. Power so much — it is so unlortunate that
he should have been obliged to go abroad, and leave us
unprotected women with so much responsibility.'

‘ Yes, I know,' said Charlotte quickly, having a shy
distaste for the details of what troubled her so much in
the gross.

‘ Paula has inquired for you.'

‘ What is she doing ? '

‘ She is in her room : she has not begun to dress yet
Will you go to her ? '

Charlotte assented. ‘ I have to tell her something,'
she said, * which will make no difference, but which 1
should like her to know this morning — at once. I have
discovered that we have been entirdy mistaken about
Mr. Somerset.' She nerved herself to relate succinctly
what had come to her knowledge the day before.

Mrs. Goodman was much impressed. She had never
clearly heard before what circumstances had attended
the resignation of Paula's architect. ‘We had better
not tell her till the wedding is over,* she presently said ;
‘ it would only disturb her, and do no good.'

‘ But will it be right ? * asked Miss De Stancy.

‘Yes, it will be right if we tdl her afterwards. O
443

A LAODICEAN

yes— it must be right/ she repeated in a tone which
showed that her opinion was unstable enough to re-
quire a little fortification by the voice. ' She loves your
brother; she must, since she is going to many him;
and it can make little difference whether we rehabilitate
the character of a friend now, or some few hours hence.
The author of those wicked tricks on Mr. Somerset
ought not to go a moment unpunished.’

‘That’s what I think; and what right have we to
hold our tongues even for a few hours ? ’

Charlotte found that by telling Mrs. Goodman she
had simply made two irresolute people out of one, and,
as Paula was now inquiring for her, she went upstairs
without having come to any decision.

DB STANCY AND PAULA

XIV

Paula was in her boudoir, writing down some notes
previous to beginning her wedding toilet, which was
designed to harmonize with the simplicity that charac-
terized the other arrangements. She owned that it was
depriving the neighbourhood of a pageant which it
had a right to expect of her ; but the cii cumstance was
inexorable.

Mrs. Goodman entered Paula’s room immediately
behind Charlotte. Perhaps the only difference between
the Paula of to-day and the Paula of last year was an
accession of thoughtfulness, natural to the circumstances
in any case, and more particularly when, as now, the
bride’s isolation made self-dependence a necessity. She
was sitting in a light dressing-gown, and her face, which
was rather pale, flushed at the entrance of Charlotte
and her aunt.

‘ I knew you were come,’ she said, when Charlotte
stooped and kissed her. ‘ I heard you. I have done
nothing this morning, and feel dreadfully unsettled.
Is all well?’

The question was put without thought, but its apt-
ness seemed almost to imply an intuitive knowledge
of their previous conversation. ‘Yes,’ said Charlotte
tardily.

‘Well, now, Clementine shall dress you, and I can
445

A LAODICEAN

do with Milly/ continued Paula. ‘Come along. —
Wdl, aunt — what*s the matter? — and you, Charlotte?
You look harassed.’

‘ I have not slept well,’ said Charlotte.

‘ And have not you slept well either, aunt ? You said
nothing about it at breakfast.’

‘O, it is nothing,’ said Mrs. Goodman quickly.

‘ I have been disturbed by learning of somebody’s
villainy. 1 am going to tell you all some time
to-day, but it is not important enough to disturb you
with now.’

‘ No mysteiy ’ ’ argued Paula. ‘ Come ’ it is not
fair.’

‘ I don’t think it is quite fair,’ said Miss De Stancy,
looking from one to the other in some distress. ‘ Mrs.
Goodman — I must tell her ! Paula, Mr. Som ’

‘ He’s dead ! ’ cried Paula, sinking into a chair and
turning as pale as marble. ‘ Is he dead ? — tell me ! ’
she whispered.

* * No, no — he’s not dead — he is very well, and gone

to Normandy for a holiday < ’

‘ O — I am glad to hear it,’ answered Paula, with a
sudden cool mannerliness

* He has been misrepresented,’ said Mrs. Goodman.

‘ That’s all’

‘ Well ? ’ said Paula, with her eyes bent on the
floor.

‘ I have been feeling tliat 1 ought to tell you clearly,
dear Paula,’ declared her friend. ‘ It is absolutely false
about his telegraphing to you for money — ^it is abso-
lutely false that his character is such as that dreadful
picture represented it. There — that’s the substance of
it, and I can tell you particulars « at any time.’ ^

But Paula would not be told at any time. A
dreadful sorrow sat in her face; she insisted upon
learning eveiything about the matter there and then,
and there was no withstanding her.

446

DE STANCY AND PAULA

V

When it was all explained she said in a low ta|S :
*It is that pernicious, evil man Dare — ^yet wjk|pis
it he? — what can he have meant it!
before generosity, even on one’s wedding-day. Before
I become any man’s wife this morning I’ll see that
wretch in jail I The affair must be sifted. ... O, it
was a wicked thing to serve anybody sol — I’ll send
for Cunningham Haze this moment — the culprit is even
now on the premises, I believe — acting as clerk of the
works 1 ’ The usually well-balanced Paula was excited,
and scarcely knowing what she did went to the bell-pull.

‘Don’t act hastily, Paula,’ said her aunt. ‘Had
you not better consult Sir William? He will act for
you in this.’

‘ Yes. — He is coming round in a few minutes,’ said
Charlotte, jumping at this happy thought of Mrs.
Goodman’s.

‘ He’s going to run across to see how you are getting
on. He will be here by ten.’

‘ Yes — he promised last night.’

She had scarcely done speaking when the prancing
of a horse was heard in the ward below, and in a few
minutes a servant announced Sir William De Stancy.

De Stancy entered saying, ‘ I have ridden across
for ten minutes, as I said I would do, to know if
everything is easy and straightforward for you. There
will be time enough for me to get back and prepare
if I start shortly. Well ? ’

‘ I am ruffled,’ said Paula, allowing him to take her
hand.

* What is it ? ’ said her betrothed.

As Paula did not immediately answer Mrs. Goodman
beckoned to Charlotte, and they left the room together.

‘ A man has to be given in charge, or a boy, or a
demon,* she replied. ‘I was going to do it, but you
can do it better than I. He will run away if we don’t
mind.’

447

A LAODICEAN

‘But, my dear Paula, who is it? — what has he
done ? ’

‘It is Dare — that young man you see out there
against the sky.’ She looked from the window sideways
towards the new wing, on the roof of which Dare was
walking prominently about, after having assisted two of
the workmen in putting a red streamer on the tallest
scaffold-pole. ‘You must send instantly for Mr.
Cunningham Haze ! ’

‘My dearest Paula,’ repeated De Stancy faintly, his
complexion changing to that of a man who had died.

‘ Please send for Mr. Haze at once,’ returned Paula,
with graceful firmness. ‘I said 1 would be just to a
wronged man before I was generous to you — and 1
will. That lad Dare — to take a practical view of it —
has attempted to defraud me of one hundred pounds
sterling, and he shall suffer. I won’t tell you what he
has done besides, for though it is worse, it is less
tangible. When he is handcuffed and sent off to jail
ril proceed with my dressing. Will you ring the bell ? ’

‘ Had you not better consider ? ’ began De Stancy.

‘ Consider ! ’ said Paula, with indignation. ‘ I have
considered. Will you kindly ring, Sir William, and get
Thomas to ride at once to Mr. Haze? Or must I
rise from this chair and do it myself? ’

‘You are very hasty and abrupt this morning, I
think,’ he faltered.

Paula rose determinedly from the chair.

‘ Since you won’t do it, I must,’ she said.

‘ No, dearest ! — Let me beg you not to 1 ’

‘ Sir William De Stancy 1 ’

She moved towards the bell-pull; but he stepped
before and intercepted her.

‘You must not ring the bell for that purpose,’ he
said with husky deliberateness, looking into the depths
of her face. -

‘It wants two hours to the time when you might
448

DE STANCY AND PAULA

have a right to express such a command as that/ she
said haughtily.

‘ I certainly have not the honour to be your husband
yet/ he sadly replied, ‘ but surely you can listen ? There
exist reasons against giving this boy in charge which I
could easily get you to admit by explanation; but I
would rather, without explanation, have you take my
word, when I say that by doing so you are striking a
blow against both yourself and me/

Paula, however, had rung the bell.

* You are jealous of somebody or something perhaps ! *
she said, in tones which showed how fatally all this was
telling against the intention of that day. ^ 1 will not be
a party to baseness, if it is to save all my fortune ! ’

The bell was answered quickly But De Stancy,
though plainly in great misery, did not give up his
point Meeting the servant at the door before he
could enter the room he said. ‘ It is nothing ; you can
go again/

Paula looked at the unhappy baronet in amazement ;
then turning to the servant, who stood with the door in
his hand, said, ‘Tell Thomas to saddle the chestnut,
and — - *

‘ It^s all a mistake,’ insisted De Stancy. ‘ Leave the
room, James 1 ’

James looked at his mistress.

‘ Yes, James, leave the room,’ she calmly said, sitting
down. ‘ Now what have you to say ? ’ she asked, when
they were again alone. * Why must I not issue orders
in my owm house? Who is this young criminal, that
you value his interests higher than my honour? I
have delayed for one moment sending my messenger
to the chief constable to hear your explanation — only
for that.’

‘ You will still persevere ? ’

* Certainly. \^o is he ? ’

‘ Paula . . . he is my son.’

449 » ^

A LAODICEAN

She remained still as death while one might count
ten; then turned her back upon him. ‘I think you
had better go away,’ she whispered. ‘You need not
c^nie again.’

He did not move. ‘Paula — do you indeed mean
this ? ’ he asked.

‘I do.’

De Stancy walked a few paces, then said in a low
voice: ‘Miss Power, I knew — I guessed just now, as
soon as it began — that we were going to split on this
rock. Well — let it be — it cannot be helped ; destiny is
supreme. The boy was to be my ruin ; he is my ruin,
and rightly. But before I go grant me one request.
Do not prosecute him. Believe me, I will do every-
thing I can to get him out of your way. He shall annoy
you no more. ... Do you promise ? ’

‘ I do,’ she said. ‘ Now please leave me.’

‘ Once more — am I to understand that no marriage
is to take place to-day between you and me ? ’

‘ You are.’

Sir William De Stancy left the room. It was notice-
able throughout the interview that his manner had not
been the manner of a man altogether 'taken by surprise.
During the few preceding days his mood had been
that of the gambler seasoned in ill-luck, who adopts
pessimist surmises as a safe background to his most
sanguine hopes.

She remained alone for some time. Then she rang,
and requested that Mr. Wardlaw, her father’s solicitor
and friend, would come up to*her» A messenger was
despatched, not to Mr. Cunningham Haze, but to the
parson of the parist^, who in his turn sent to the clerk
and clerk’s wife^ then busy in the church. On receipt
of the intelligence the two latter functionaries proceeds
to roll up the <;riirpet which had been laid from the
door to the-gat^ put away the kneeling-cushions, lodced
the doors, and went off to inquire the reason of so
450

DE STANCY AND PAULA

strange a countermand. It was soon proclaimed in
Markton that the marriage had been postponed for a
fortnight m consequence of the bride’s sudden indis-
position: and less public emotion was felt than the
case might have drawn forth, from the ignorance of the
majority of the populace that a wed(fing had been going
to take place at all.

Meanwhile Miss De Stancy had been closeted with
Paula for more than an hour. It was a difficult meet-
ing, and a severe test to any friendship but that of the
most sterling sort. In the turmoil of her distraction
Qiarlotte had the consolation of knowing that if her
act of justice to Somerset at such a moment were the
act of a simpleton, it was the only course open to
honesty. But Paula’s cheerful serenity in some measure
laid her own troubles to rest, till they were reawakened
by a rumour — which got wind some weeks later, and
quite drowned all other surprises — of the true relation
^tween the vanished clerk of works, Mr. Dar^ and
the Men family of De Stancy.

BOOK THE SIXTH

PAULA

PAULA

BOOK THE SIXTH

PAULA

I

I HAVE decided that I cannot see Sir William again :
I shall go away/ said Paula on the evening ot the next
day, as she lay on her bed in a flushed and highly-
strung condition, though a person who had heard her
words withW seeing her flice would have assumed
perfect equanimity to be the mood which expressed
Itself with such quietness. This was the case with her
aunt, who was looking out of the window at some
idlers from Markton walking round the castle with
their eyes bent upon its windows, and she made no
haste to reply.

* Those people have come to see me, as they have
a right to do when a person acts so strangely,’ Paula
continued* ‘ And hence I am better away.’

* Where do you think to go to ? ’

Paula relied in the tone of one who was actuated
entirely practical considerations: *Out of England
certainly. And as Normandy lies nearest, I think I
shall go there. It is a very nice country to ramble in.’

‘Yes, it is a very nice country to ramble in|* echoed
her aunt, in moderate tones. ‘When do you intend
to start ? ’

45S

A LAODICEAN

‘ I should like to cross to-night. You must go with
me, aunt ; will you not ? ’

Mrs. Goodman expostulated against such suddenness.

‘ It will redouble the rumours that are afloat, if, after
being supposed ill, you are seen going off by railway
perfectly well.*

‘That’s a contingency which I am quite willing to
run the risk of. Well, it would l)e rather sudden, as
you say, to go to-night. But we’ll go to-morrow night
at latest.’ Under the influence of the decision she
bounded up like an elastic ball and went to the glass,
which showed a light in her eye that had not been there
before this resolution to travel in Normandy had been
taken.

The evening and the next morning were passed in
writing a final and kindly note of dismissal to Sir William
De Stancy, in making arrangements for. the journey,
and in commissioning Havill to take advantage of their
absence by emptying certain rooms of their f|j|niture, and
repairing their dilapidations — a work which, with that in
hand, would complete the section for which he had been
engaged. Mr. Wardlaw had left the castle ; so also had
Charlotte, by her own wish, her residence there having
been found too oppressive to herself to be continued
for the present. Accompanied by Mrs. Goodman*
Milly, and Clementine, the elderly French maid, wfio
still remained with them, Paula drove into Markton in
the twilight and took the train to Budmouth.

When they got there they found that an unpleasant
breeze was blowing out at sea, though inland it had
been calm enough. Mrs. Goodman proposed to stay at
Budmouth till the next day, in hope that there might
be smooth wates; but an English seaport inn being a
thing that Paula disliked more than a rough passage*
she would not listen to this counsel. Other impatient*
reasons, too, might have weighed with her. When
night came their looming miseries began. Paula found
456

PAULA

that in addition to her own troubles she had those of
three other people to support ; but she did not audibly
complain.

‘Paula, Paula,’ said Mrs. Goodman from beneath
her load of wretchedness, ‘ why did we think of under-
going this ? ’

A slight gleam of humour crossed Paula’s not
particularly blooming face, as she answered, ‘Ah, why
indeed ? ’

‘What is the real reason, my dear? For God’s
sake tell me ! ’

‘ It begins with S.*

‘Well, I would do anything for that young man
short of personal martyrdom ; but really when it comes
to that—'

‘ Don’t criticize me, auntie, and T won’t criticize
you.’

‘ Well, I am open to criticism just now, I am sure,’
said, heyiunt, with a green smile ; and speech was again
discontinued.

The morning was bright and beautiful, and it could
again be seen in Paula’s looks that she was glad she
had come, though, in taking their rest at Cherbourg, fate
consigned them to an hotel breathing an atmosphere
that seemed specially compounded for depressing the
spirits of a young woman ; indeed nothing had particu-
larly encouraged her thus far in her somewhat peculiar
scheme of searching out and expressing sorrow to a
gentleman for having believed those who traduced him ;
and this coup d'audoct to which she had committed her-
sdf i^gan to look somewhat formidable. When in
England the plan of following him to Normandy had
suggested itself as the quickest, sweetest, and most
honest way of making amends ; but having arrived there
she seemed further off from his sphere of existence than
when she had b^n at Stancy Castle. Virtually she
was, for if he thought of her at all, he probably thought
457

A LAODICEAN

of her there ; if he sought her he would sedr her there.

‘ However, as he would probably never do the latter, it
was necessary to go on. It had been her sudden dream;
before starting, to light accidentally upon him in some
romantic old town of this romantic old province, but
she had become aware that the recorded fortune of
lovers in that respect was not to be trusted too im-
plicitly.

Somerset’s search for her in the south was now
inversely imitated. By diligent inquiry in Cherbourg
during the gloom of evening, in the disguise of a hooded
cloak, she learnt out the place of his stay while there,
and that he had gone thence to Lisieux. What she
knew of the architectural character of Lisieux half
guaranteed the truth of the information. Without
telling her aunt of this discovery she announced to that
lady that it was her great wish to go on and see the
beauties of Lisieux.

But though her aunt was simple, there were bounds
to her simplicity. * Paula,’ she said, with an un-
decdvable air, < I don’t think you should run after a
young man like this. Suppose he shouldn’t care for
you by this time.’

It was no occasion for further affectation. *I am
sure he will,’ answered her niece flatly. * I have not the
least fear about it; nor would you, if you knew how he
is. He will forgive me anything.’

‘Well, pray don’t show yourself forward. Some
people are apt to fly into extremes.’

Paula blushed a trifle, and reflected, and made no
answer. However, her purpose seemed not to be per-
manently affected, (of ^e next morning she was up
betimes and preparing to depart ; and they proceeded
almost wi^out stopping to the architectural curiosity-^
town which had so quickly interested her. Nevertheless
her ardent manner of yesterday underwent a oonstder-
aUe change, as if she had a fear that, as her aunt
4S8

PAULA

suggested, in her endeavour to make amends for cruel
injustice, she was allowing herself to be carried too far.

On nearing the place she said, ‘ Aunt, 1 think you
had better call upon him ; and you need not tell him
we have come on purpose. Let him think, if he will,
that we heard he was here, and would not leave without
seeing him. You can also tell him that I am anxious
to clear up a misunderstanding, and ask him to call at
our hotel *

But as she looked over the dreary suburban erections
which lined the road from the railway to the old quarter
of the town, it occurred to her that Somerset would at
that time of day be engaged in one or other of the
mediaeval buildings thereal^ut, 'and that it would be a
much neater thing to meet him as if by chance in one
of these edifices than to call upon him anywhere.
Instead of putting up at any hotel, they left the maids
and baggage at the station ; and hiring a carriage, Paula
told the coachman to drive them to such likely places
as she could think of.

‘He*ll never forgive you,* said her aunt, as they
rumbled into the town.

‘Won’t he?* said Paula, with soft faith. ‘Til see
about that.*

‘What are you going to do when you find him?
Tell him point-blank that you are in love with him ? *

‘ Act in such a manner that he may tell me he is in
love with me.*

They first visited a large church at the upper end of
a square that sloped its gravelled sur&ce to the western
shine, and was pricked out with little avenues of young
pollard limes. The churdi within was one to make
any Gothic architect take lodgings in its vicinity for a
fortnight, though it was just now crowded with a forest
of scaffolding for repairs in progress. Mrs. Goodman
sat down outside, and Paula, entering, took a walk in
the form of a horse-shoe; that is, up the south aisl<^
459

A LAODICEAN

round the apse, and down the north side; but no
figure of a melancholy young man sketching met her
^e anywhere. The sun that blazed in at the west
doorway smote her face as she emerged from beneath
it, and revealed real sadness there.

‘ This is not all the old architecture of the town by
far,’ she said to her aunt with an air of confidence.
‘ Coachman, drive to St. Jacques’.’

He was not at St. Jacques’. Looking from the west
end of that building the girl observed the end of a
steep narrow street of antique character, which seemed
a likely haunt. Beckoning to her aunt to follow in the
fly Paula walked down the street.

She was transported to the Middle Ages. It con-
tained the shops of tinkers, braziers, bellows-menders,
hollow-turners, and other quaintest trades, their fronts
open to the street beneath stories of timber overhanging
so far on each side that a slit of sky was left at the
top for the light to descend, and no more. A blue
misty obscurity pervaded the atmosphere, into which
the sun thrust oblique staves of light. It was a street
for a mediaevalist to revel in, toss up 'his hat and shout
hurrah in, send for his luggage, come and live in, die
and be buried in. She had never supposed such a
street to exist outside the imaginations of antiquarians.
Smells direct from the sixteenth century hung in the
air in all their original integrity and without a modern
taint. The faces of the people in the doorways seemed
those of individuals who habitually gazed on the great
Francis, and spoke of Henry the Eighth as the king
across the sea.

She inquired of a coppersmith if an English artist
had been seen here lately. With a suddenness that
almost discomfited her he announced that such a man
had been. seen, sketching a house just below — the
‘ Vieux Manoir de Francois premier.’ Just turning to
see that her aunt was following in the fly, Paula
460

PAULA

advanced to the house. The wood framework of the
lower story was black and varnished ; the upper story
was brown and not varnished; carved figures of
dragons, griffins, satyrs, and mermaids swarmed over
the front; an ape stealing apples was the subject of
this cantilever, a man undressing of that. These figures
were cloaked with little cobwebs which waved in the
breeze, so that each figure seemed alive.

She examined the woodwork closely; here and
there she discerned pencil-marks which had no doubt
been jotted thereon by Somerset as points of admea-
surement, in the way she had seen him mark them at
the castle. Some fragments of paper lay below : there
were pencilled lines on them, and they bore a strong
resemblance to a spoilt leaf of Somerset’s sketch-book.
Paula glanced up, and from a window above pro-
truded an old woman’s head, which, with the excep-
tion of the white handkerchief tied round it, was so
nearly of the colour of the carvings that she might
easily have passed as of a piece with them. The
aged woman continued motionless, the remains of
her eyes being bent upon Paula, who asked her in
Englishwoman’s French where the sketcher had gone.
Without replying, the crone produced a hand and ex-
tended finger from her side, and pointed towards the
lower end of the street.

Paula went on, the carriage following with difficulty,
on account of the obstructions in the thoroughfare.
At bottom, the street abutted on a wide one with cus-
tomary modem life flowing through it; and as she
looked, Somerset crossed her front along this street,
hurrying as if for a wager.

By the time that Paula had reached the bottom
Somerset was a long way to the left, and she recognized
to her dismay that the busy transverse street was one
which led to the railway. She quickened her pace
to a run ; he did not see her ; he even walked faster.

461

A LAODICEAN

She looked behind for the carriage. The driver in
emerging from the sixteenth-century street to the
nineteenth had apparently turned to the right, instead
of to the left as she had done, so that her aunt had
lost sight of her. However, she dare not mind it, if
Somerset would but look ^ck! He partly turned,
hut not far enough, and it was only to hail a passing
omnibus upon which she discerned his luggage.
Somerset jumped in, the omnibus drove on, and
diminished up the long road. Paula stood hopelessly
still, and in a few minutes puffs of steam showed her
that the train had gone.

She turned and waited, the two or three children
who had gathered round her looking up sympathiz-
ingly in her face. Her aunt, having now discovered
the direction of her flight, drove up and beckoned
to her.

< WhaPs the matter ? ’ asked Mrs. Goodman in alarm.

‘Why?'

‘That you should run like that, and look so ^ woe-
b^one.'

‘Nothing; only I have decided not to stay in
this town.'

‘ What ! he is gone, I suppose ? ’

‘ Yes ! ' exclaimed Paula, with tears of vexation in
her eyes. ‘It isn’t every man who gets a woman
of my position to run after him on foot, and alone,
and he ought to have looked round ! Drive to the
station ; I want to make an inquiry.’

On reaching the station she asked the booking-
derk some questions, and returned to her aunt with
a cheerful countenance. ‘Mr. Somerset has only
gone to Caen,’ shp said. *He is the only English-
man who went by this train, so there is no mistake.
There is no other train for two hours. We will go
on then — sTiall we?’

‘I am indifferent,’ said Mrs. Goodman* ‘But,
462

PAULA

Paula, do you think this quite right? Perhaps he
is not so anxious for your forgiveness as you think.
Perhaps he saw you, and wouldn’t stay.’

A momentary dismay crossed her face, but it passed,
and she answered, ‘Aunt, that’s nonsense. I know
him well enough, and can assure you that if he had
only known I was running after him, he would have
looked round sharply enough, and would have given
his little finger rather than have missed me ! I don’t
make mysdf so siUy as to run after a gentleman
without good grounds, for I know well that it is
an undignified thing to do. Indeed, I could never
have thought of doing it, if I had not been so miser-
ably in the wrong I *

A LAODICEAN

n

That evening when the sun was dropping out of
sight they started for the city of Somerset’s pilgrimage.
Paula seated herself with her face toward the western
sky, watching from her window the broad red horizon,
across which moved thin poplars lopped to human
shapes, like the walking forms in Nebuchadnezzar’s
furnace. It was dark when the travellers drove into
Caen.

She still persisted in her wish to casually encounter
Somerset in some aisle, lady-chapel, or crypt to which
he might have betaken himself to cop/ and learn the
secret of the great artists who had erected those nooks.
Mrs. Goodman was for discovering his inn, and calling
upon him in a straightforward way ; but Paula seemed
afraid of it, and they went out in the morning on foot.
First they searched the church of St. Sauveur; he
was not there ; next the church of St Jean ; then the
church of St. Pierre; but he did not reveal himself,
nor had any verger seen or heard of such a man.
Outside the latter church was a puUic flower*garden,
and she sat down to consider beside a round pool
in which water-lilies *grew and gold-fish swam, near
beds of fiery geraniums, dahlias, and verbenas juSt
past their bloom. Her enteijwise had not been justi-
fied by its results so far; but meditation still urged

PAULA

her to listen to the little voice within and push on.
She accordingly rejoined her aunt, and they drove up
the hill to the Abbaye aux Dames, the day by this tijne
having grown hot and oppressive.

The church seemed absolutely empty, the void being
emphasized by its grateful coolness. But on going
towards the east end they perceived a bald gentleman
close to the screen, looking to the right and to the left
as if much perplexed. Paula merely glanced over him,
his back being toward her, and turning to her aunt said
softly, ‘ I wonder how we get into the choir ? *

‘ThaPs just what I am wondering,* said the old
gentleman, abruptly facing round, and Paula discovered
that the countenance was not unfamiliar to her eye.*^
Since knowing Somerset she had added to her gallery
of celebrities a photograph of his father, the Academician,
and he it was now who confronted her.

For the moment embarrassment, due to complicated
feelings, brought a slight blush to her cheek, but being
well aware that he did not know her, she answered,
coolly enough, ‘ I suppose we must ask some one.’

‘And we certainly would if there were any one to
ask,’ he said, still looking eastward, and not much at
her. ‘ I have been here a long time, but nobody comes.
Not that I want to get in on my own account; for
though it is thirty years since I last set foot in this
place, I remember it as if it were but yesterday.’

‘ Indeed. I have never been here before,’ said Paula.

* Naturally. But I am looking for a young man who
is making sketches in some of these buildings, and it is
as likely as not that he is in the crypt under this choir,
for it is just such out-of-the-way nooks that he prefers.
It is very provoking that he should not have told me
more distinctly in his letter where to find him.’

Mrs. Goodman, who had gone to make inquiries,
now came back, and informed them that she had learnt
that it was necessary to pass through the Hfitel-Dieu to
465 a G

A LAODICEAN

the choir, to do which they must go outside. There-
upon they walked on together, and Mr. Somerset, quite
ignoring his troubles, made remarks upon the beauty of
the architecture; and in absence of mind, by reason
either of the subject, or of his listener, retained his hat
in his hand after emerging from the church, while they
walked all the way across the Place and into the Hospital
gardens.

‘A vei^^ civil man,* said Mrs. Goodman to Paula
privately.

‘Yes,* said Paula, who had not told her aunt that
she recognized him.

One of the Sisters now preceded them towards the
choir and crypt, Mr. Somerset asking her if a young
Englishman was or had been sketching there. On
receiving a reply in the negative, Paula nearly betrayed
herself by turning, as if her business there, too, ended
with the information. However, she w^ent on again,
and made a pretence of looking round, Mr. Somerset
also staying in a spirit of friendly attention to hiB<*
couqjtrywomen. They did not part from him till they
had come out from the crypt, and again reached the
west front, on their way to which he additionally
explained that it was his son he was looking for, who
had arranged to meet him here, but had mentioned no
inn at which he might be expected.

When he had left them, Paula informed her aunt
whose company they had been sharing. Her aunt
began expostulating with Paula for not telling Mr.
Somerset what they had seen of his son*s movements.

‘ It would have eased his mind at least,' she said.

‘ I was not bound to ease his mind at the expense of
showing what I would rather conceal. I am continually
hampered in such generosity as that by the circumstance
of being a woman ! *

‘Well, it is getting tod late to search further to-
night*

466

PAULA

It was indeed almost evening twilight in the streets,
though the graceful freestone spires to a depth of about
twenty feet from thdr summits were still dyed with the
orange tints of a vanishing sun. The two relatives
dined privately as usual, after which Paula looked Out
of the window of her room, and reflected upon the
events of the day. A tower rising into the sky quite
near at hand showed her that some church or other
stood within a few steps of the hotd archway, and
saying nothing to Mrs. Goodman, ^he quiftly doaked
herself, and went out towards it, apparently with the
view of disposing of a portion of a dull dispiriting
evening. The church was open, and oii entering she
found that it was only lighted by seven candles burning
before the altar of a chapel on the south side, the mass
of the building being in deep shade. Motionless out-
lines, which resolved themselves into the forms of
kneeling women, were darkly visible among the chairs,
and in the triforium above the arcades there was one
hitherto unnoticed radiance, dim as that of a glow-
worm in the grass. It was seemingly the effect of a
solitary tallow-candle behind the masonry. ^ * *

A priest came in, unlocked the door of a confes-
sional with a click which sounded in the silei^e, and
entered it; a woman followed, disappeared within the
curtain of the same, emerging again in about five
l^nutes, fo^owed by the priest, who locked up his
rffeot with aslpther loud click, like a tradesman full of
biteiness, and came down the aisle to go out. In the
lobby he spoke to another woman, who replied, ‘Ah,
oui, Monsieur PAbbd ! *

Two women having spoken to him, there could be
no harm in a third doing likewise. ‘ Monsieur PAbb^/
said Paula in French, ‘could you indicate to me the
stairs of the triforium?^ and she signified her reason
for wishing to know by pointing to the glimmering
light above.

A LAODICEAN

*Ah, he is a friend of yours, the Englishman?’
pleasantly said the priest, recognizing her nationality;
and taking her to a little door he conducted her up a
stone staircase, at the top of which he showed her the
long blind story over the aisle arch^ which led round
to where the light was. Cautioning her not to stumble
over the uneven floor, he left her and descended. His
words had signified that Somerset was here.

It was a gloomy place enough that she found herself
in, but the seven candles below on the opposite altar,
and a faint sky light from the clerestory, lent enough
rays to guide her. Paula walked on to the bend of
the apse : heze were a few chairs, and the origin of
the light. *

This was a candle stuck at the end of a sharpened
stick, the latter entering a joint in the stones. A young
man was sketching by the glimmer. But there was no
need for the blush which had prepared itself before-
hand; the young man was Mr. Cockton, Somerset’s
youngest draughtsman.

Paula could have cried aloud with disappointment.
Cockton recognized Miss Power, and appearing much
surprised, rose from his seat with a* bow, and said
hastily, ‘ Mr. Somerset left to<day.’

‘ 1 did not ask for him,’ said Paula.

‘ No, Miss Power : but I thought ’

‘Yes, yes — you know, of course, that he has been
my architect. Well, it happens that I should like to
see him, if he can call on me. Which way did he go ? ’

* He’s gone to ^tretat.’

‘What for? There are no abbeys to sketch at
fitretat. ’

Cockton looked at the point of his pencil, and with
a hesitating motion of his lip answered, ‘ Mr. Somerset
said he was tired.’

‘ Of what ? ’

‘ He said he was sick and tired of holy places, and
468

PAULA

would go .to some wicked spot or other, to get that
consolation which holiness could not give. But he
only said it casually to Knowles, and perhaps he did
not mean it.’

* Knowles is here too ? ’

‘ Yes, Miss Power, and Bowles. Mr. Somerset has
been kind enough to give us a chance of enlarging our
knowledge of French Early-pointed, and pays half the
expenses.’

Paula said a few other things to the young man,
walked slowly round the triforium as if she had come
to examine it, and returned down the staircase. On
getting back to the hotel she told her aunt, who had
just been having a nap, that next day^ey would go
to l^tretat for a change.

‘ Why ? There are no old churches at ^ tretit.’

* No. But I am sick and tired of holy places, and|
want to go to some wicked spot or other to find that
consolation which holiness cannot give.’

‘ For shame, Paula 1 Now I know what it is ; you
have heard that he’s gone there ! You needn’t try to
blind me.’

‘ I don’t care where he’s gone 1 ’ cried Paula petu-
lantly. In a moment, however, she smiled at herself,
and added, * You must take that for what it is worth.

I have made up my mind to let him know from my
own lips how the misunderstanding arose. That done,

I shall leave him, and probably never see him again.
My conscience will be clear.’

The next day they took the steamboat down the
Orne, intending to reach £tretSt by way of Havre.
Just as they were moving off an elderly gentleman
under a large white sunshade, and carrying his hat
in his hand, was seen leisurely walking down the
wharf at some distance, but obviously making for the
boat.

* A gentleman ! ’ said the mate,

469

A LAODICEAN

* Who is he ? ’ said the captain.

* An English/ said Clementine.

Nobody knew more, but as leisure was the order
of the day the engines were stopped, on the chance
of his being a passenger, and all eyes were bent
upon him in conjecture. He disappeared and re-
appeared from behind a pile of merchandise and
approached the boat at an easy pace, whereupon
the gangway was replaced, and he came on board,
removing his hat to Paula, quietly thanking the cap-
tain for stopping, and saying to Mrs. Goodman, ‘ I am
nicely in time.*

It was Mr. Somerset the elder, who by degrees
informed our travellers, as sitting on their camp-stools
th^ advanced between the green banks bordered by
elm^, that he was going to ^tretit; that the young
man he had spoken of yesterday had gone to that
romantic watering-place instead of studying art at Caen,
and that he was going to join him there.

Paula preserved an entire silence as to her own
intentions, partly from natural reticence, and partly,
as it appeared, from the difficulty of explaining a
complication which was not very clear to herself. At
Havre they parted from Mr. Somerset, and did not
see him ^ again till they were driving over the hills
towards Etretat in a carriage and four, when the white
umbrella became visible far ahead among the outside
passengers of the coach to the same place. In a short
time they had passed and cut in before this vehicle,
but soon became aware that their carriage, like the
coach^ was one of a straggling procession of convey-
ances, some mile and a half in length, all bound for
the village between the cliffs.

In descending the long hill shaded by lime-trees
which sheltered their place of destination, this pro-
cession closed up, and they perceived that all the
visitors and native population had turned out to wel-
470

PAULA

come them, the daily arrival of new sojourners at
this hour being the chief excitement of ^tretat. The
coach which had preceded them all the way, at more
or less remoteness, was now quite close, and in pass-
ing along the village street they saw Mr. Somerset
wave his hand to somebody in the crowd below. A
felt hat was waved in the air in response, the coach
swept into the inn-yard, foDowed by the idlers, and
all disappeared. Paula’s face was crimson as their
own carriage swept round in the opposite direction to
the rival inn.

Once in her room she breathed like a person who
had finished a long chase. They did not go down
before dinner, but when it was almost dalk Paula
begged her aunt to wrap herself up and come with
her to the shore hard by. The beach was desgrtcd,
everybody being •at the Casino; the gate stood in-
vitingly open, and they went in. Here the brilliantly
lit terrace was crowded with promenaders, and outside
the yellow palings, surmounted by its row of lamps,
rose the voice of the invisible sea. Groups of people
were sitting under the verandah, the women mosfly
in wraps, for the air was grpwing chilly. Through
the windows at their back an animated scene disclosed
itself in the shape of a room-full of waltzers, the strains
of the band striving in the ear for mastery over the
sounds of the sea. The dancers came round a couple
at a time, and were individually visible to those people
withqut who chose to look that way, which was what
Paula did.

‘ Come away, come away ! ’ she suddenly said. ‘ It
is not right for us to be here.’

Her exclamation had its origin in what she had at
that moment seen within, the spectacle of Mr. George
Somerset whirling round the room with a young lady of
uncertain nationality but pleasing figure. Paula was
not accustomed to show the white feather too clearly,

471

A LAODICEAN

but she soon had passed out through those yellow gates
and retreated, till the mixed music of sea and band had
resolved into that of the sea alone.

‘Weill' said her aunt, half in soliloquy, ‘do you
know who I saw dancing there, Paula? Our Mr.
Somerset, if I don’t make a great mistake ! ’

‘ It was likely enough that you did,’ sedately replied
her niece. ‘ He left Caen with the intention of seeking
distractions of a lighter kind than those furnished by
art, and he has merely succeeded in finding them. But
he has made my duty rather a difficult one. Still, it
was my duty, for I very greatly wronged him. Perhaps,
however, I have done enough for honour’s sake. I
would have humiliated myself by an apology if I had
found him in any other situation ; but, of course, one
can’t be expected to take much trouble when he is seen
going on like that I ’

The coolness with which she began her remarks
had developed into something like warmth as she
concluded.

* He is only dancing with a lady he probably knows
very well.’

‘ He doesn’t know her ! The idea of his dancing with
a woman of that description! We will go away to-
morrow. This place has been greatly over-praised.’

‘ The place is well enough, as far as I can see.’

‘He is carrying out his programme to the letter.
He plunges into excitement in the most reckless
manner, and I tremble for the consequences ! I can
do no more: I have humiliated myself into following
him, believing that in giving too ready credence to
appearances I had been narrow and inhuman, and
had caused him much misery. But he does not mind,
and he has no misery ; he seems just as well as ever.
How much this finding him has cost me ! After all,
I did not deceive him. He must have acquired a
natural aversion for me. I have allowed myself to
472

PAULA

be interested in a man of very common qualities, and
am now bitterly alive to the shame of having sought
him out. 1 heartily detest himl I will go back-
aunt, you are right— I had no business to come. . .
His light conduct has rendered him uninteresting to
mel’

A I-AODlCE.\N

in

W^HEN she rose the next morning the bell was clang-
ing for the second breakfast, and people were pouring
in from the beach in every variety of attire. Paula,
whom a restless night had left with a headache, which,
however, she said nothing about, was reluctant to
emerge from the seclusion of her chamber, till her
aunt, discovering what was the matter with her, sug-
gested that a few minutes in the open air would refresh
her ; and they went downstairs into the hotel gardens.

The clatter of the big breakfast within was audible
from this spot, and the noise seemed suddenly to inspirit
Paula, who proposed to enter. Her autff assented.
In the verandah under which they passed nwas a rustic
hat-stand in the form of a tree, upon whicb bats and
other body-gear hung like bunches of fruit, Paula's
eye fell upon a felt hat to which a small block-book
was attached by a string. She knew that hat and
block-book well, and turning to Mrs. Goodman said,
‘ After all, I don’t want the breakfast they are having :
let us order one of our own as usual. And we’ll
have it here.’

She led on to where some little tables were placed
under the tall shrubs, followed by her aunt, who was
in turn followed by the proprietress of the hotel, that
lady having discovered from the French maid that
474

PAULA

there was good reason for paying these ladies ample
personal attention.

^ Is the gentleman to whom that sketch-book belongs
staying here?’ Paula carelessly inquired, as she indi-
cated the object on the hat-stand.

‘ Ah, no ! * deplored the^proprietress. * The Hotel
was full when Mr. Somerset came. He stays at a
cottage beyond the Rue Anicet Bourgeois: he only
has his meals herd.’

Paula had taken her seat under the fuchsia-trees in
such a manner that she could observe all the exits from
the salle d manger ; but for the present none of the
breakfasters emerged, the only moving objects on the
scene being the waitresses who ran hither and thither
across the court, the cook’s assistants with baskets of
long bread, and the laundresses with baskets of sun-
bleached linen. Further back towards the inn-yard,
stablemen were putting in the horses for starting the
flys and coaches to Les Ifs, the nearest railway-station.

* Suppose the Somersets should be going off by one
of these conveyances,’ said Mrs. Goodman as she sipped
her tea.

‘Well, aunt, then they must,’ replied the >ounger
lady with composure.

Nevertheless she looked with some misgiving at the
nearest stableman as he led out four white horses,
harnessed them, and leisurely brought a brush with •
which he began blacking their yellow hoofs. All the
vehicles were ready at the door by the time breakfast
was over, and the inmates soon turned out, some to
mount the omnibuses and carriages, some to ramble on
the adjacent beach, some to climb the verdant slopes,
and some to make for the cliffs that shut in the vale.
The fuchsia-trees which sheltered Paula’s breakfast table
from the blaze of the sun, also screened it from the
eyes of the outpouring company, and she sat on with
her aunt in perfect comfort, till among the last of the
475

A LAODICEAN

stream came Somerset and his father. Paula reddened
at being so near the former at last. It was with sensible
relief that she observed them turn towards the cliffs and
not to the carriages, and thus signify that they were not
going off that day.

Neither of the two saw the ladies, and when the
latter had finished their tea and coffee they followed to
the shore, where they sat for nearly an hour, reading
and watching the bathers. At length footsteps crunched
among the pebbles in their vicinity, and looking out from
her sunshade Paula saw the two Somersets close at hand.

The elder recognized her, and the younger, observing
his father’s action of courtesy, turned his head. It was
a revelation to Paula, for she was shocked to see that
he appeared worn and ill. The expression of his face
changed at sight of her, increasing its shade of paleness ;
but he immediately withdrew his eyes and passed by.

Somerset was as much suprised at encountering her
thus as she had been distressed to see him. As soon
as they were out of hearing, he asked his father quietly,
* What strange t^ing is this, that Lady De Stancy should
be here and her husband not with her ? Did she bow
to me, or to you ? ’

‘Lady De Stancy — that young lady?’ asked the
puzzled painter. He proceeded to explain all he knew ;
that she was a young lady he had met on his journey at
two or three different times ; moreover, that if she were
his son’s client — the woman who was to have become
Lady De Stancy — she was Miss Power still ; for he had
seen in some newpsaper two days before leaving England
that the wedding had been postponed on account of
her illness.

Somerset was so greatly moved that he could hardly
speak connectedly^ to his father as they paced on to>
gether. ‘ But she is not ill, as far as I can see,’ he saji^.
‘ The wedding postponed ? — You are sure the word was
postponed ? — Was it broken off? *

476

PAULA

‘ No, it was postponed. I meant to have tM you
before, knowing you would be interested as the castle
architect; but it slipped my memory in the bustle of
arriving.*

* I am not the castle architect.’

‘ The devil you are not — ^^hat are you then ? *

* Well, I am not that*

Somerset the elder, though not of penetrating nature,
began to see that here lay an emotional complication of
some sort, and reserved further inquiry till a more con<
venient occasion. They had reached the end of the level
beach where the cliff b^an to rise, and <ia this impedi-
ment naturally stopped their walk they tl&traced cheir
steps. On again nearing the spot where Paula and her
aunt were sitting, the painter would have deviated to the
hotel ; but as his son persisted in going straight on, in
due course they were opposite the ladies again. By
this time Miss Power, who had appeared anxious during
their absence, regained her self-control. Going towards
her old lover she said, with a smile, ‘ I have been look-
ing for you 1 ’

‘ Why have you been doing that ? * said Somerset, in
a voice which he failed to keep as steady as he could
wish.

‘Because — I want some architect to continue the
restoration. Do you withdraw your resignation ? *

Somerset appeared unable to decide for a few
instants. ‘ Yes,’ he then answered.

For the moment they had ignored the presence of
the painter and Mrs. Goodman, but Somerset now made
them known to one another, and there was friendly
intercourse all round.

* When will you be able to resume operations at the
castle?’ she asked, as soon as she could again speak
dirdctly to Somerset.

‘As soon as I can get back. Of course I only
resume it at your special request.’

477

A LAODICEAN

^ Of course.* To one who had known all the circum-
stances it would have seemed a thousand pities that,
after again getting face to face with him, she did not
explain, without delay, the whole mischief that had
separated them. But she did not do it — perhaps from
the inherent awkwardness of such a topic at this idle
time. She confined herself simply to the above-men-
tioned business-like request, and when the party had
walked a few steps together they separated, with mutual
promises to meet again.

‘I hope you have explained your mistake to him,
and how it arose, and everything ? * said her aunt when
they were alone.

* No, I did not.’

*What, not explain after all?* said her amazed
relative.

‘ I decided to put it off.*

‘Then I think you decided very wrongly. Poor
young man, he looked so ill ! ’

‘ Did you, too, think he looked ill ? But he danced
last night. Why did he dance ? ' She turned and gazed
regretfully at the corner round which the Somersets had
disappeared,

* I don’t know why he danced ; but if I had known
you were going to be so silent, I would have explained
the mistake ili^elf.*

‘ I wish rfou had. But no ; I have said I would ;
and I mustf

Paula’s fvoidance of tables d^hdte did not extend to
the present one. It was quite with alacrity that she
went down; and with her entry the antecedent hotel
beauty who had reigned for the last five days at that
meal, was unceremoniously deposed by the guests.
Mr. Somerset ttie elder came* in, but nobody with
him. His seat was on Paula’s left hand, Mrs. Goodman
being on Paula’s right, so that all the conversation
between the Academician and the younger lady. iMien
* 4'78

PAULA

the latter had again retired upstairs with her aunt, Mrs.
Goodman expressed regret that young Mr. Somerset was
absent from the talkie. ‘ Why has he kept away ? ' she
asked.

‘I don’t know — I didn't ask,' said Paula sadly
* Perhaps he doesn't care to ineet us again.'

‘ That's because you didn’t explain.'

* Well — why didn’t the old man give me an oppor-
tunity ? ' exclaimed the niece with suppressed excitement.

‘ He would scarcely say anything but yes and no, and
gave me no chance at all of introducing the subject. I
wanted to explain — I came all the way on purpose — I
would have begged George's pardon on my two knees
if there had been any way of beginning , but there was
not, and 1 could not do it ! '

Though she slept badly that night, Paula promptly
appeared in the public room to breakfast, and that not
from motives of vanity; for, while not unconscious of
her accession to the unstable throne of queen-beauty in
the establishment, she seemed too preoccupied to care
for the honour just then, and would readily have changed
places with her unhappy predecessor, who lingered on in
the background like a candle after sunrise.

Mrs. Goodman was determined to trust no longer to
Paula for putting an end to what made her so restless
and self-reproachful. Seeing old Mr. Somerset enter to
a littje side-table behind for lack of room at the crowaed
centre tables, again AMthout his son, she turned her
head and asked point-blank A\here the young man was.

Mr. Somerset's face became a shade graver than be-
fore. ‘ My son is unwell,' he replied ; ‘ so unwell that
he has been advised to stay indoors and take perfect
rest'

‘ I do hope it is nothing serious.'

‘ I hope so too. The fact is, he has overdone him-
a little. He was not well when he came here ; and
wil^ke himself worse he must needs go dandng at the
* 479

A LAODICEAN

Casino with this lady and that — among others with a
young American lady who is here with her family, and
whom he met in London last year. I advised him
against it, but he seemed desperately determined to
shake off lethargy by any rash means, and wouldn’t
listen to me. Luckily he is not in the hotel, but in a
quiet cottage a hundred yards up the hill ’

Paula, who had heard all, did not show or say what
she felt at the news: but after breakfast, on meeting
the landlady in a passage alone, she asked with some
anxiety if there were a really skilful medical man in
£tretit; and on being told that there was, and his
nam4 she went back to look for Mr. Somerset; but
he had gone.

They heard nothing more of young Somerset all
that morning, but towards evening, while Paula sat at
her window, looking over the heads of fuchsias upon
the promenade beyond, she saw the painter walk by.
She immediately went to her aunt and begged her to
go out and ask Mr. Somerset if his son had improved.

‘ I will send Milly or Clementine,’ said Mrs. Good-
man.

‘ I wish you would see him yourself.’

* He has gone on. I shall never find him.’

‘He has only gone round to the front,' persisted
Paula. ‘ Do walk that way, auntie, and ask him.’

Thus ' pressed, Mrs. Goodman acquiesced, and
brought back intelligence to Miss Power, who had
watched them through the window, that his son did
not positively improve, but that his American friends
were very kind to him.

Having made use of her aunt, Paula seemed parti-
cularly anxious to get rid of her again, and when that
lady sat down to write letters, Paula went to her own
room, hastily dressed herself without assistance, asked
privately the way to the cottage, and went off thither-
ward unobserved.

480

PAULA

At the upper end of the lane she saw a little
house answering to the description, whose front garden,
window-sills, palings, and doorstep were literally ablaze
with nasturtiums in bloom.

She entered this inhabited nosegay, quietly asked
for the invalid, and if he wei% well enough to see Miss
Power. The womaljj^of the house soon returned, and
she Was conducted up a crooked staircase to Somerset's
modest apartments. It appeared that some rooms in
this dwelling had been furnished by the landlady of the
inn, who hired them of the tenant during the summer
season to use as an annexe to the hot('l.

Admitted to the outer room she beheld her architect
looking as unarchitectural as possible; l>ing On a small
couch which was drawn up to the opui casement,
whence he had a back view of the window flowers, and
enjoyed a green transparency through the undersides of
the same nasturtium leaves that presented their faces to
the passers without.

AVhen the latch had again clicked into the catch
of the closed door Paula went up to the invalid, upon
whose pale and interesting face a flush had arisen
simultaneously with the announcement of her name.
He would have sprung up to receive her, but she
pressed him down, and throwing all reserve on bhe
side for the first time in their intercourse, she crouched
beside the sofa, whispering with loguish solicitude, her
face not too far from his own : ‘ How foolish you are,
George, to get ill just now when 1 Lave been wanting
so much to see you again I — I am so sorry to see you
like this — what I said to you when we met on the shore
was not what I had come to say ! '

Somerset took her by the hand. * Then what did
you come to say, Paula ? ^ he asked.

‘ I wanted to tell you that the mere wanton wander-
ing of a capricious mind was not the cause of my
estrangement from you. There has been a great
481 a H

A LAODICEAN

deception practised — the exact nature of it I cannot
tell you plainly just at present ; it is too painful — but
it is all over, and I can assure you of my sorrow at
having behaved as I did, and of my sincere friendship
now as ever/

‘There is nothing I shall value so much as that.
It will make my work at the csll)tle very pleasant to
feel that I can consult you about it without fear of
intruding on you against your wishes.’

‘Yes, perhaps it will But — you do not compre-
hend me.*

‘ You have been an enigma always.*

‘And you have been provoking; but never so
provoking as now. I wouldn’t for the world tell you
the whole of my fancies as I came hither this evening :
but I should think your natural intuition would suggest
what they were.*

‘It does, Paula. But there are motives of delicacy
which prevent my acting on what is suggested to me.*

‘ Delicacy is a gift, and you should thank God for
it ; but in some cases it is not so precious as we would
persuade ourselves.*

‘Not when the woman is rich, 'and the man is
poor ? *

‘O, George Somerset — be cold, or angry, or any-
thing, but don’t be like this! It is never worth a
woman’s while to show regret for her injustice ; for all
she gets by it is an accusation of want of delicacy.*

‘Indeed I don’t accuse you of that — ^I warmly,
tenderly thank you for your kindness in coming here
to see me.*

‘ Well, perhaps you do. But I am now in I cannot
tell what mood-^Z will not tell what mogd)
would be confessing more than I ought. This finding
you out is a piece of weakness that I shall not repeat ;
and I have only one thing more to say. I have served
you badly, George, I know that; but it is never too
* 48s

PAULA

late too mend ; and I have come back to you. How-
ever, I shall never run after you again, trust me for that,
for it is not the woman’s part. Still, before I go, that
there may be no mistake as to my meaning, and misery
entailed on us for want of a word, I’ll add this : that if
you want to marra^me, as yop* once did, you must say
so : for I am herSlII be asked.’

It would be superfluous to transcribe Somerset’s
reply, and the remainder of the scene between the pair.
Let it suffice that half-an-hour afterwards, when the
sun had almost gone down, Paula walked briskly into
the hotel, troubled herself nothing about dinner, but
went upstairs to their sitting-room, where her aunt
presently found her upon the couch looking up at the
ceiling through het fingers. They talked on different
subjects for some time till the old lady said *Mr.
Somerset’s cottage is the one covered with flowers up
the lane, I hear.’

‘ Yes,’ said Paula.

‘ How do you know ? ’

* I’ve been there. ... We are going to be married,
aunt.*

‘ Indeed ! ’ replied Mrs. Goodman. ‘ Well, I thought
this might be the end of it : you were determined on
the point; and I am not much surprised at your
news. Your father was very wise after all in entailing
everything so strictly upon your offspring; for if he
had not I should have been driven w3d with the
responsilility ! ’

‘ And now that the murder is out,’ continued Paula,
passing over that view of the case, ‘ I don’t mind telling
you that somehow or other I have got to like George
Somers€|, as desperately as a woman can care for any
man. I thought I should have died when I saw him
dancing, and feared I had lost him I He seemed ten
times nicer than ever then! So silly we women ftre,
that I wouldn’t marry a duke in preference to him*

483

A LAODICEAN

There, that’s my honest feeling, and you must make
what you can of it; my conscience is clear, thank
Heaven ! ’

‘ Have you fixed the day ? ’

‘No,’ continued the young lady, still watching the
sleeping flies on the ceiling. ‘It is left unsettled
between us, while I come and ask you if there would
be any harm — if it could conveniently be before we
return to England ? ’

‘ Paula, this is too precipitate ! ’

‘ On the contrary, aunt. In matrimony, as in some
other things, you should be slow to decide, but quick
to execute. Nothing on earth would make me marry
another man ; I know every fibre of his character ; and
he knows a good many fibres of mine ; so as there is
nothing more to be learnt, why shouldn’t we marry at
once ? On one point I am firm : I will never return to
that castle as Miss Power. A nameless dread comes
over me when I think of it — a fear that some uncanny
influence of the dead Do Stancys would drive me again
from him. O, if it were to do that,’ she murmured,
burying her face in her hands, ‘ I really think it would
be more than I could bear ! ’

‘ Very well,’ said Mrs. Goodman ; ‘ we will see what
can be done. I will write to Mr. Wardlaw.’

PAULA

IV

On a windy afternoon in Nu\ ember, ^\hen more than
two months had closed over tlie incidents previously
recorded, a number of farmers were sitting in a room of
the Lord-Quantock-Arms Inn, Markton, tliat was used
for the weekly ordinary. It was a long, loVi apartment,
formed by the union of two or three smaller rooms,
with a bow-window looking upon the street, and at the
present moment was pervaded by a blue fog from
tobacco-pipes, and a temperature like that of a kiln.
The body of farmers who still sat on there was greater
than usual, owing to the cold air without, the tables
having been cleared of dinner for some time and their
surface stamped with liquid circles by the feet of the
numerous glasses.

Besides the farmers there were present several pro-
fessional men of the town, who found it desirable to
dine here on market-days for the opportunity it afforded
them of increasing their practice among the agricul-
turists, many of whom were men of large balances,
even luxurious livers, who drove to market in eluant
phaetons drawn by horses of supreme blood, bone, and
action, in a style never anticipated by their fathers when
jogging thither in light carts, or afoot with a butter
bswket on each arm.

The buzz of groggy conversation was suddenly im-

48s

A LAODICEAN

pinged on by the notes of a peal of bells from the
tower hard by. Almost at the same instant the door
of the room opened, and there entered the landlord of
the little inn at Sleeping-Green. Drawing his supply
of cordials from this superior house, to which he was
subject, he came here at stated times like a prebendary
to the cathedral of his diocesan, afterwards retailing to
his own humbler audience the sentiments which he had
learnt of this. But curiosity being awakened by the
churdi bells the usual position was for the moment
reversed, and one of the farmers, saluting him by name,
asked him the reason of their striking up at that lime
of day.

‘ My mis’ess out yonder,' replied the rural landlord,
nodding .sideways, <is coming home with her fancy-
man. They have been a-gaying together this turk
of a while in foreign parts. — Here, maid ! — =what with
the wind, and standing about, my blood's as low as
water — bring us a thimbleful of that that isn't gin and
not far from it.'

* It is true, then, that she’s becon^e Mrs. Somerset ? '
indifferently asked a farmer in broadqloth, tenant of
an estate in quite another direction than heis, as he
contemplated the grain of the table immediately sur-
rounding the foot of his glass.

‘ True — of course it is,' said Havill, who was also
present, in the tone of one who, though sitting in this
rubicund company, v^as not of it. ‘ I could have told
you the truth of it any day these last five weeks.'

Among those who had lent an ear was Dairyman
Jinks, an old gnarled character who wore a white
fustian coat and yellow leggings; the only man in
the room who never dressed up in dark clothes for
marketing. He now asked, * Married abroad, was
they? And how long will a wedding abroad stand
good for in this countiy ? '

* As long as a wedding at home.’

486

PAULA

'Will it? Faith; I didn’t know: how shoulcP
I ? I thought it might be some new plan o’ folks
for leasing women now they be so plentiful, so as to
get rid o’ ’em when the men be tired o’ ’em, and hev
spent all their money.’

‘He won’t be able to s^end her money,’ said the
landlord of Sleeping-Green ‘ ’'J’is her very own person’s
— settled upon the hairs of her head foi ever.’

‘ O nation ! Then if I were the man I shouldn't
care for such a one-eyed benefit as that,' said Dairy-
man Jinks, turning away to listen to the talk on his
other hand.

‘Is that true?’ asked the gentleman-farmer in
broadcloth.

‘It is sufficiently near the truth,’ said Havill.

‘ There is nothing at all unusual in the arrangement ;
it was only settled so to prevent any schemer making
a beggar of her. If Somerset and she have any
children, which probably they will, it will be theirs;
and what can a man want more? Besides, there is
a large portion of property left to her personal use —
quite as much as they can want. Oddly enough, the
curiosities and pictures of the castle which belonged
to the De Stancys are not restricted from sale; they
are hers to do what she likes with. Old Power didn’t
care for articles that reminded him so much of his
predecessors.’

‘Hey?’ said Dairyman Jinks, turning back again,
having decided that the conversation on his right
hand was, after all, the more interesting. ‘Well —
why can’t ’em hire a travelling chap to touch up
the picters into her own gaffers and gammers ? Then
they’d be worth sommat to her.’

‘Ah, here they are? I thought so,’ said Havill,
who had been standing up at the window for the
last few moments. ‘The ringers were told to begin
as soon as the train signalled.’

487

A LAODICEAN

As he spoke a carriage drew up to the hotel-door,
followed by another with the maid and luggage. The
inmates crowded to the bow-window, except Dairy-
man Jinks, who had become absorbed in his own
reflections.

‘ What be they stopping here for ? ’ asked one of
the previous speakers.

‘ They are going to stay here to-night,’ said Havill.
‘I'hey have come quite unexpectedly, and the castle
is in such a state of turmoil that there is not a single
carpet down, or room for them to use. We shall get
two or three in order by next week.’

‘ Two little people like them will be lost in the
chammers of that wandering place ! ’ satirized Dairy-
man Jinks. ‘They will be bound to have a randy
every fortnight to keep the moth out of the furniture !

By this time Somerset w%is handing out the wife of
his bosom, and Dairyman Jinks went on : ‘ That’s no
more Miss Power that was, than my niece’s daughter
Kezia is Miss Power — in short it is a different woman
altogether ! ’

‘There is no mistake about the voman,’ said the
landlord ; ‘ it is her fur clothes that make her look so
like a caterpillar on end. Well, she is not a bad
bargain! As for Captain De Stancy, he’ll fret his
gizzard green.’

‘ He’s the man she ought to ha’ married,’ declared
the farmer in broadcloth. *As the world goes she
ought to have been Lady De Stancy. She gave up
her chapel-going, and you might have thought she
would have given up her first young man; but she
stuck to him, though by all’ accounts he would soon
have been interested in another party.’

‘ ’Tis woman’s nature to be false except to a man,
and man’s nature to be true except to a womafl,’
said the landlord of Sleeping-Green, ‘However, all’s
well that ends well, and I have something else to
48S

PAULA

think of than new-married couples;' saying \\hich the
speaker moved off, and the others returned to their
seats, the young pair who had been their theme vanish-
ing through the hotel intf> some private paradise to rest
and dine.

By this time their arriVal had lx‘iome known, and
a crowd soon gathered outside*, acquiring audacity with
continuance there. Raising a liurrah, the group would
not leave till Somerset bad showed himself on the
balcony above; and then declined to go away till
Paula also had appeared ; when, remarking that her
husband seemed a quiet young man enough, and
W'ould make a very good borougli member when their
present one misbehaved himself, the assemblage good-
humouredly dispersed.

Among those whose ears had been rc'tched by the
hurrahs of these idlers was a man in silence and soli-
tude, far out of the town. He wms leaning over a
gate that divided tw'o meads in a wateiy level between
Stancy Castle and Markton. He turned his head for
a few seconds, then continued his contemplative gaze
towards the tow^ers of the castle, visible over the trees
as far as was possible in the leaden gloom of the
November eve. The military form of the solitary
lounger was recognizable as that of Sir William De
Stancy, notwithstanding the failing light and his atti-
tude of so resting his elbows on the gate that his hands
enclosed the greater part of his face.

The scene was inexpressibly cheerless. No other
human creature was apparent, and the only sounds
audible above the wind were those of the trickling
streams which distributed the water over the m^dow.
A heron had been standing in one of these rivulets
about twenty yards from the officer, and they vied
with each other in stillness till the bird suddenly
rose and flew off to th^ plantation in which it was
489

A LAODICEAN

his custom to pass the night with others of his tribe.
De Stancy saw the heron rise, and seemed to imagine
the creature’s departure without a supper to be owing
to the increasing darkness; but in another minute he
became conscious that the heron had been disturbed
by sounds too distant to reach his own ears at the
time. They were nearer now, and there came along
under the hedge a young man known to De Stancy
exceedingly well.

* Ah,’ he said listlessly, ‘ you have ventured back.’

‘ Yes, captain. Why do you walk out here ? ’

‘The bells began ringing because she and he were
expected, and my thoughts naturally dragged me this
way. Thank Heaven the battery leaves Markton in a
few days, and then the precious place will know me
no more ! ’

‘I have heard of it.’ Turning to where the dim
lines of the castle rose he continued : ‘ Well, there it
stands.’

‘ And I am not in it.’

‘ They are not in it yet either.’

‘ They soon will be.’

‘Well — what tune is that you were humming,
captain ? ’

‘ All is lost now,' replied the captain grimly.

‘O no; you have got me, and I am a treasure
to any man. I have another match in my eye
for you, and shall get you well settled yet, if you
keep yourself respectable. So thank God, and take
courage ! ’

‘Ah, Will — ^you are a flippant young fool — wise
m your own conceit; I say it to my sorrow! ’Twas
your dishonesty spoilt all. That lady would have
been my wife by fair‘ dealing — time was all I required.
But base attacks on a man’s character never deserve
to win, and if I had once been certain that you had
made them, my course would have been very different
490

PAULA

both towards you and others. But why should I
talk to you about this? If I cared an atom what
becomes of you I would take you m hand severely
enough; not caring, I leave you alone, to go to the
devil your own way.*

‘ Thank you kindly, captain. Well, since you have
spoken plainly, I will do the same. We De Stancys
are a worn-out old party — that’s the long and the
short of it. We represent conditions of life that
have had their day — especially me. Our one remain-
ing chance was an alliance with new aristocrats; and
we have failed. We are past and done for. Our
line has had five hundred 3’ears of glory, and we
ought to be content. Enfin les renards se trouvent
chez le pelletier^

‘ Speak for yourself, young Consequence, and leave
the destinies of old families to respectabk philosophers.
This fiasco is the direct result of evil conduct, and of
nothing else at all. I have managed badly ; I counten-
anced you too far. When I saw your impish tendencies
I should have forsworn the alliance.*

‘ Don’t sting me, captain. What I have told you is
true. As for my conduct, cat will after kind, you know.
You should have held your tongue on the wedding
morning, and have let me take my chance.*

‘ Is that all I get for saving you from jail? Gad —
I alone am the sufferer, and feel I am alone the
fool! . . . Come, off with you — I never want to see
you any more.*

‘ Part we will, then — till we meet again. It will be
a light night hereabouts, I think, this evening.*

‘ A very dark one for me.*

< Nevertheless, I think it will be a light night.
Au revoirl^

Dare went his way, and after a while De Stancy went
his. Both were soon lost in the shades.

491

A LAODICEAN

f

The castle to-night was as gloomy as the meads.
As Havill had explained, the habitable rooms were
just now undergoing a scour, and the main block of
buildings was empty even of the few servants who had
been retained, they having for comfort’s sake taken up
their quarters in the detached rooms adjoining the
entrance archway. Hence not a single light shone
from the lonely windows, at which ivy leaves tapped
like woodpeckers, moved by gusts that were numerous
and contrary rather than violent. Within the walls
all was silence, chaos, and obscurity, till towards
eleven o’clock, when the thick immovable cloud that
had dulled the daytime broke into a scudding fleece,
through which the moon forded her way as a nebulous
spot of watery white, sending light enough, though of
a rayless kind, into the castle chambers to show the
confusion that reigned there.

At this time an eye might have noticed a figure
flitting in and about those draughty apartments, and
making no more noise in so doing than a puff of wind.
Its motion hither j|nd thither was rapid, but methodical ;
its bearing absorbed, yet cautious. Though it ran
more or less through all the principal rooms, the chief
scene of its operations was the Long Gallery over-
looking the Pleasance, which was covered by an orna-
492

PAULA

mental wood-and-plaster roof, and contained a whole
throng of family portraits, besides heavy old cabinets
and the like. The portraits which were of value as
works of art were smaller than these, and hung in
adjoining rooms.

The manifest occupatioh of the figure was that of
removing these small and valuable pictures from other
chambers to the gallery in which the rest were hung,
and piling them in a heap in the midst. Included in
the group were nine by Sir Peter Lely, five by Vandyck,
lour by Cornelius Jansen, one by Salvatoi Rosa (remark-
able as being among the few English jioi traits evei
painted by that master), many by Kneller, and two by
Romney. Apparently by accident, the light being in-
sufficient to distinguish them from portraits, the figure
also brought a Raffaclle Virgin-and-Child, a magnificent
'Pintorctto, a Titian, and a Giorgione.

On these was laid a large collection of enamelled
miniature portraits of the same illustrious line; after-
wards tapestries and cushions embroidered with the
initials * De S.’ ; and next the cradle presented by
Charles the First to the contemporary De Stancy
mother, till at length there arose in the middle of the
floor a huge heap containing most of \\hat had been
personal and peculiar to members of the De Stancy
family as distinct from general furniture.

Then the figure went from door to door, and threw
open each that was unfastened. It next proceeded to
a room on the ground floor, at present fitted up as
a carpenter’s shop, and knee-deep in shavings. An
armful of these was added to the pile of objects in
the gallery; a window at each end of the gallery was
opened, causing a brisk draught along the w^alls ; an<i.
then the activity of the figure ceased, and it was seen
no more.

Five minutes afterwards a light shone upon the lawn
from the windows of the Long Gallery, which glowed
493

A LAODICEAN

with more brilliancy than it had known in the meri-
dian of its Caroline splendours. Thereupon the framed
gentleman in the lace collar seemed to open his eyes
more widely; he with the flowing locks and turn-up
miistachios to part his lips ; he in the armour, who was
so much like Captain De Stancy, to shake the plates of
his mail with suppressed laughter ; the lady with the
threc-stringed pearl necklace, and vast expanse of neck,
to nod with satisfaction and triumphantly signify to her
adjoining husband that this was a meet and glorious
end.

The flame increased, and blown upon by the wind
roared round the pictures, the tapestries, and the cradle,
uj) to the plaster ceiling and through it into the forest
of oak timbers above.

The best sitting-room at the Lord-Quantock-Arms
in Markton was as cosy this evening as a room can be
that lacks the minuter furniture on which cosiness so
largely depends. By the Are sat Paula and Somerset,
the former with a shawl round her shoulders to keep off
the draught which, despite the curtains, forced its way
in on this gusty night through the windows opening
upon the balcony. Paula held a letter in her hand, the
contents of which formed the subject of their conversa-
tion. Happy as she was in her general situation, there
was for the nonce a tear in her eye,

‘ My ever dear Paula (ran the letter),— Your last letter has
just reached me, and I have followed your account of your travels
and intentions with more interest than 1 can tell. You, who know
me, need no assurance of this. At the present moment, however,
1 am in the whirl of a change that has resulted from a resolution
taken some time^ agp, but concealed from almost everybody till
now. Why? Well, I will own — from cowardice— fear lest I
should be reasoned out of my plan. I am going to steal from the
world, Paula, from the social world, for whose gaieti^ and ambi-
tions I never had much liking, and whose circles 1 have not the
494

PAULA

ability to grace. My home, and resting-place till the great rest
comes, is with the Protestant Sisterhood at . Whatever short-

comings may be found in such a community, 1 believe that I shall
be happier there than in any other place.

‘ Whatever you may think of my judgment in taking this step, I
can assure you that I have not done it without consideration. My
reasons are good, and my dciermination is unalterable. But, my
own very best friend, and more than sister, tlon’t think that I mean
to leave my love and friendship for you Ix'hind me. No, Paula,
you will always be with me, and I l)elieve that if an increase in
what I alrendy feel for you l)e possible, it will be furthered by the
retirement and meditation I shall enjoy in my secluded home.
My heart is very full, dear— too full to write more. God bless you,
and your husband. You must come and see me there; 1 have not
so many friends that I can afford to lose you wh^ have been so
kind. T write this with the fellow-pen to yours, that you gave me
when we went to Budmouth together. Good-bye !— Ever your own
sister, Charlotte.*

Paula had first read this through silently, and now
in reading it a second time aloud to Somerset her
voice faltered, and she wept outright. ‘I had been
expecting her to live with us always,* she said through
her tears, ‘and to think she should have decided to
do this ! *

‘It is a pity certainly,* said Somerset gently. ‘She
was genuine, if anybody ever was; and simple as she
was true.*

‘I am the more sorry,* Paula presently resumed,
‘ because of a little plan I had been thinking of with re-
gard lo her. You know that the pictures and curiosities
of the castle are not included in the things I cannot
touen, or impeach, or whatever it is. They are our own
to dc' what vre like with. My father felt in devising the
estate that, however interesting to the De Stancys those
objects might be, they did not concern us — were indeed
rather in the way, having been come by so strangely,
through Mr. Wilkins, .though too valuable to be treat^
lightly. Now I was going to suggest that we would not
495

A LAODICEAN

sell them — indeed I could not bear to do such a thing
with what had belonged to Charlotte’s forefathers — but
to hand them over tQ her as a gift, cither to keep for
herself, or to pass on to her brother, as she should
choose. Now I fear there is no hope of it : and yet I
shall never like to see them in the house.’

‘It can be done still, I should think. She can
accept them for lier brother when he settles, ^^ithout
absolutely taking them into her own possession.’

‘It would be a kind of generosity wliich hardly
amounts to more than justice (although they were
purchased) from a recusant usurper to a dear friend
— not that I am a usurper exactly; well, from a
representative of the new aristocracy of internationality
to a representative of the old aristocracy of exclusive-
ness.’

‘ What do you call yourself, Paula, since you are not
of your father’s creed ? ’

‘I suppose I am what poor Mr. Woodwell said —
by the way, we must call and see him — sometliing or
other that’s in Revelation, neither cold nor hot. But
of course that’s a sub-species — I may be a lukewarm
anything. What I really am, as faf as I know, is
one of that body to whom lukewarmth is not an
accident but a provisional necessity, till they see a
little more clearly.’ She had crossed over to his side,
and pulling his head towards her whispered a name in
his ear.

‘ Why, Mr. Woodwell said you were that too I You
carry your beliefs very comfortably. 1 shall be glad
when enthusiasm is come again.'

‘ I am going to revise and correct my beliefs one of
these days when I have thought a little further.’ She
suddenly breathed a sigh and added, ‘ How transitory
our best emotions are! In talking of m 3 rself I am
heartlessly forgetting Charlotte, and becoming happy
again. I won’t be happy to-night for her sake ! ’

496

PAULA

A few minutes after this their attention was attracted
by a noise of footsteps running along the street ; then
a heavy tramp of horses, and lumbering of wheels.
Other feet wore heard scampering at intervals, and soon
somebody ascended the staircase and approached their
door. The head waiter appeared.

‘ Ma*am, Stancy Castlt is all afire ! ’ said the waiter
breathlessly.

Somerset jumped up, drew '^side the curtains, and
stepped into the bow-window. Right bi'fore him rose
a blaze. The window looked upon che street and
along the turnpike road to the very hill on which the
castle stood, the keep bt'ing visible in the daytime
above the trees. Here rose the light, which appeared
little further off than a stone’s throw instead of nearly
three miles. Every curl of the smoke and every wave
of the flame was distinct, and Somerset fancied he could
hear the crackling.

Paula had risen from her scat and joined him in
the window, where she heard some people in the street
saying that the servants were all safe, after which she
gave her mind more fully to the material aspects of the
catastrophe

The whole town was now rushing off to the scene of
the conflagration, which, shining straight along the street,
showed the burgesses’ running figures distinctly upon
the illumined road. Paula was quite ready to act upon
Somdrset’s suggestion that they too should hasten to
the spot, and a fly was got ready in a few minutes.
With lapse of time Paula evinced more anxiety as to the
fate of her castle, and when they had driven as near as it
was pruuent to do, they dismounted, and went on foot
into the throng of people which was rapidly gathering
from the town and surrounding villages. Among the
faces they recognized Mr. Woodwell, Havill the architect,
the rector of the parish, the curate, and many others
known to them by sight. These, as soon as they saw
497 2 I

A LAODICEAN

the young couple, came forward with words of con-
dolence, imagining them to have been burnt out of
bed, and vied with each other in offering them a
lodging. Somerset explained where they were staying
and that they required no accommodation, Paula in-
terrupting with ‘O my poor horses, what has become
of them ? *

‘ The fire is not near the stables,’ said Mr. Woodwell.
‘ It broke out in the body of the building. The horses,
however, are driven into the field.’

‘ I can assure you, you need not be alarmed, madam,'
said Havill. ‘ The chief constable is here, and the two
town engines, and I am doing all I can. The castle
engine Unfortunately is out of repair.’

Somerset and Paula then went on to another point
of view near the gymnasium, where they could not be
seen by the crowd. Three-quarters of a mile off, on
their left hand, the powerful irradiation fell upon the
brick chapel in which Somerset had first seen the
woman who now stood beside him as his wife. It
was the only object visible in that direction, the dull
hills and trees behind failing to catch the light. She
significantly pointed it out to Somerset, who knew her
meaning, and they turned again to the more serious
matter.

It had long been apparent that in the face of such
a wind all the pigmy appliances that th'fe populace could
bring to act upon such a mass of combustion would be
unavailing. As much as could burn that night was
burnt, while some of that which would not burn
crumbled and fell as a formless heap, whence new flames
towered up, and inclined to the north-east so far as to
singe the trees of ‘ the park. The thicker walls of Nor-
man date remained unmoved, partly because of their
thickness, and partly because in them stone vaults took
the place of wood floors. 4

The tower clock kept manfully going till it Mpk^nick
49S

PAULA

one, its face smiling out fiom the smoke as if nothing
v\rere the matter, after which hour something fell down
inside, and it went no more.

Cunningham Haze, with his body of men, w'as
devoted in his attention, and came up to sa) a word to
our two spectators from time to time, towards lour
o’clock the flames diminished, and feeling ihoroughly
w'eary, Somerset and Paula remained no longer, return-
ing to Markton as they had come.

On their journey they pondert''’ and dinussed what
course it w'ould be best to pursue in the c ircunistancts,
gradually deciding not to attempt rebuilding the castle
unless they were absolutely compelled. 'True', tin* main
walls were still standing as firmly as ever; but there
was a feeling common to both of them that it would
be well to make an opportunity of a mislor' me, and
leaving the edific e in ruins start their married life in a
mansion of independent construction hard by the old
one, unencumbered with the ghosts of an unfortunate
line.

‘ We will build a new house from the ground, eclectic
in style. We w ill remove the ‘ashes, charred wood, and
so on from the ruin, and plant more ivy. The winter
lains will soon wash the unsightly smoke from the
walls, and Stancy Castle will be beautiful in its decay.
You, Paula, will be yourself again, and recover, if you
have not alrea<!y, from the warp given to your mind
(according to Woodw^ell) by the mediaevalism of that
place.’

‘And b£‘ a perfect representative of “the modern
spirit ” ? ’ she inquired ; ‘ representing neither the senses
and understanding, nor the heart and imagination;
but what a finished writer calls “the imaginative
reason ” ? *

« Yes ; for since it is rather in your line you may as
well keep straight on.’

‘Very well. I’ll keep straight on; and we’ll build a
499

A LAODICEAN

new house beside the ruin, and show the modern spirit

for evermore. . . . But, George, I wish * And

Paula repressed a sigh.

‘Well?'

* I wish my castle wasn't burnt ; and I wish you were
a De Stancy ! '

THS fiKD,

The XAfesse^

of ^

T^e NoTi/efs.

TheBeaf

POPULAR UNIFORM EDITION OF

\

THE WORKS OF THOMAS HARDY

Croton fivo. Cloth exit a. y.6d.cach.

1. TESS OF THE U'URBERVILLES.

2 . FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD.

3. THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE,

4. A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.

5. TWO ON A TOWER.

6. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE.

7. THE WOODLANDERS.

8. JUDE THE OBSCURE.

9. THE TRUMPET-MAJOR.

10. THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA.

11. A LAODICEAN.

12. DESPERATE REMEDIES.

13. WESSEX TALES.

14. LIFE’S LITTLE IRONIES.

15. A GROUP OF NOBLE DAMES.

16. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.

17. THE WELL BELOVED.

18. WESSEX POEMS and other Verses.

1 9. POEMS OF THE P,AST AND THE PRESENT

MACMILLAN AND CO., Lm, LONDON.

UNIFORM EDITION OF

THE WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING.

Extra Crown 8vo. Red cloth{ gilt tops, 6j. each.

KIM. With Illustrations by J. Lockw< >od K ipling. Sixtieth Tliousand.
STALKY & GO. Thirty- fourth Thousand.

THEl DAY'S WORK. Fifty-seventh ThoiKand.

PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS. Forty ninth
Thousand.

LIFE'S HANDICAP. Being Stories of Mine Own People.
Fortieth Thousand.

MANY INVENTIONS. Thirty-seventh 'rhousand. -
THE LIGHT THAT FAILED. Rewritten and considerably
enlarged. Forty-second Tbous.Tnd.

WEE WILLIE WINKIE, and other Stories. Kighti'cnih
Thousand.

SOLDIERS THREE, and other Stories. Twenty-first Thousand.
THE JUNGLE BOOK. With Illustrations by J. L. Kipling,
W. H. Drake, and P. Frenzeny. Fifty-sixth Thousand.

THE SECOND JUNGLE BOOK. With Illustrations by J.

Lockwood Kipling. Thirty-ninth Thousand.

» CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS.” A S'lORY OF THE Grand
Banks. Illustrated by I.'W. Taper. Twenty-seventh Thousand.
FROM BEA TO SEA. Lrtti<.rs of Travel. In Two Vols.
Fifteenth Thousand.

THE NAULAHKA. A Story OF West and East. By
Rudyard Kipling and Wolcott Balkstikr.

Also issued in Special Binding for Presentation. Extra gilt clotk^
gilt edges. Price 6s. each.

SOLDIER TALES. With Illustrations by A. S. IIartrick.
Eleventh Thousand.

THE JUNGLE BOOK.

THE SECOND JUNGLE BOOK.

“CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS.”

JUST BO STORIES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. With
Illustrations by the Author. 410. 6s.

FIRST AND SECOND JUNGLE BOOKS. Two Vols. in

box. I2S.

FIRST AND SECOND JUNGLE BOOKS, SOLDIER
TALES, and “CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS.” Four
Vols. in box. 24s.

A FLEET IN BEING. Notes OF Two Trips with the
Channet. Squadron. Fifty-sixth Thousand. Crown 8vo. Sewed,
IS. net; Cloth, is. 6d. net.

THE KIPLING BIRTHDAY BOOK. Compiled by Joseph
Finn. Authorised by the Author, with Illustrations by J. Lockwood
Kipling. i6ino. 2s. 6d.

MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON.

' MactnUIan*s Three^and^Six^
penny Library of Books by
Popular Authors

Crown 8vo. Cloth extra. 3s. (Sd. each

Containing
CHARLES DICKENS
W. M. THACKERAY
P. MARION CRAWFORD
ROSA N. CAREY
ROLF BOLDREWOOD
EQERTON CASTLE
HUGH CONWAY
MRS. CRAIK
SIR H. CUNNINGHAM
DEAN FARRAR
ARCHIBALD FORBES
W. WARDE FOWLER
BRET HARTE
THOMAS HUGHES
HENRY JAMES

MONTAGU

works by

SIR WALTER SCOTT
THOMAS HARDY
CHARLES KINGSLEY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
ANNIE KEARY *
MAARTEN MAARTENS
P. D. MAURICE
D. CHRISTIE MURRAY
W. E. NORRIS
MRS. OLIPHANT
MRS. PARR
W. CLARK RUSSELL
J. H. SHORTHOUSE
JOHN TIMBS
1 E. WERNER
WILLIAMS

and other Writers

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED

MACMILLAN’S 35. 6 d. LIBRARY

By ROLF BOLDRBWOOD

Bobbery under Arms
The Mineir’e Bight
The Squatter's Dream
A S3rdney-8ide Saxon
A Oolonial Beformer
Nevennore
A Modem Buccaneer
The Sealskin Cloak

Plain Living
The Crooked Stick
My Bun Home
Old Melbourne Memories
War to the Enife
Bomance of Canvas Town
Babes in the Bush

By ROSA NOUCHBTTB CARBY

Nellie’s Memories
Wee Wide

Barbara Hedlhcote’s Trial
Bobert Ord’s Atonement
Wooed and Married
Heriot’s Choice
Queenic’s Whim
Mary St. John
Not Like Other Girls
For Lilias

Uncle Max
Only the Governess
Lover. or Friend P
Basil Lyndhurst
Sir Godfrey’s Granddaughters
The Old, Old Story
Mistress of Brae Farm
Mrs. Bomney, and But Men
Must Work
Other People’s Lives

By BOBRTON CASTLB

Consequences
The Bath Comedy
The Pride of Jennico

The Light of Scaxthey
La Bella, and others
Young April ”

By HUQH CONWAY

A Family Affair | Living or Dead

By Mrs

Olive

The Ogilvies
Agatha’s Husband
The Bead of the Family
. Two Marriages
The X^iurel Bush
My Mother and X

MACMILLAN AND

. CRAIK

Miss Tommy

Xing Arthur: Not a Ziore
Story

About Money, and other
Things

Concerning Men, and other
Papers ^

CO., LTD., LONDON